GIFT   OF 
t. 


BY  MYRTLE   REED 

LOVE  LETTERS  OF  A  MUSICIAN. 

LATER  LOVE  LETTERS  OF  A  MUSICIAN. 

THE  SPINSTER  BOOK. 

LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

PICKABACK  SONGS. 

THE  SHADOW  OF  VICTORY. 

THE  MASTER'S  VIOLIN. 

THE  BOOK  OF  CLEVER  BEASTS. 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  JACK-O'-LANTERN. 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 


A  SPINNER 
IN  THE  SUN 


B  Y 


MYRTLE    REED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

Ube  Ifcnicfeerbocfeer  press 

1906 


COPYRIGHT,  igo6 

BY 

MYRTLE  REED 


iii 

Contents 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I.  "THE  FIRE  WAS  KIND"  . 

I 

Contents 

II.  Miss  MEHITABLE     .         .       '(' 

15 

III.  THE  PEARLS   .         .        V1 

31 

IV.  "  FROM   THE    DEPTHS    OF    HIS 

LOVE"           I        . 

46 

V.  ARAMINTA 

56 

VI.  PIPES  o'  PAN 

74 

VII.  THE  HONOUR  OF  THE  SPOKEN 

WORD 

89 

VIII.  PIPER  TOM      .... 

1  06 

IX.    HOUSECLEANING 

121 

X.  RALPH'S  FIRST  CASE 

137 

XI.  THE  LOOSE  LINK     .         *-.  , 

152 

XII.  A  GREY  KITTEN      .         . 

I67 

XIII.  THE    RIVER    COMES    INTO    ITS 

OWN  ..... 

181 

XIV.  A  LITTLE  HOUR  OF  TRIUMPH    . 

197 

XV.  THE  STATE  OF  ARAMINTA'S  SOUL 

207 

XVI.  THE  MARCH  OF  THE  DAYS 

222 

XVII.  LOVED  BY  A  DOG 

236 

XVIII.  UNDINE           . 

253 

3G5944 


Contents 


Contents            XIX.    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CYPRESS  268 

XX.  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  VEIL       .  .  283 

XXI.  THE  POPPIES  CLAIM  THEIR  OWN  297 

XXII.  FORGIVENESS           .         .         .  312 

XXIII.  UNDINE  FINDS  HER  SOUL          .  327 

XXIV.  TELLING  AUNT  HITTY       .         .  345 
XXV.  REDEEMED      .         .                "„  363 

XXVI.  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  VEIL        H  379 


I  ..     -      ;'••'.>' 

H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


T 


I 

fire  Ma0 1kint> " 

HE  little  house  was  waiting,  as  it  had 
waited  for  many  years.  Grey  and 
weather-worn,  it  leaned  toward  the  shelter 
ing  hillside  as  though  to  gather  from  the 
kindly  earth  some  support  and  comfort  for 
old  age.  Five-and-twenty  Winters  had  broken 
its  spirit,  five  -  and  -  twenty  Springs  had  not 
brought  back  the  heart  of  it,  that  had  once 
gone  out,  with  dancing  feet  and  singing,  and 
had  returned  no  more. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century,  the  garden  had 
lain  desolate.  Summers  came  and  went,  but 
only  a  few  straggling  blooms  made  their  way 
above  the  mass  of  weeds.  In  early  Autumn, 
thistles  and  milkweed  took  possession  of  the 
place,  the  mournful  purple  of  their  flowering 
hiding  the  garden  beneath  trappings  of  woe. 
And  at  night,  when  the  Autumn  moon  shone 
dimly,  frail  ghosts  of  dead  flowers  were  set 


ItClas 
IRinb" 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


'Ube  fffre 
THUas 
TRtufc" 


free  from  the  thistles  and  milkweed.  The 
wind  of  Indian  Summer,  itself  a  ghost,  con 
voyed  them  about  the  garden,  but  they  never 
went  beyond  it.  Each  year  the  panoply  of 
purple  spread  farther,  more  surely  hiding 
the  brave  blooms  beneath. 

Far  down  the  path,  beside  the  broken  gate, 
a  majestic  cypress  cast  portentous  gloom. 
Across  from  it,  and  quite  hiding  the  ruin  of 
the  gate,  was  a  rose-bush,  which,  every  June, 
put  forth  one  perfect  white  rose.  Love  had 
come  through  the  gate  and  Love  had  gone  out 
again,  but  this  one  flower  was  left  behind. 
!  Brambles  grew  about  the  doorstep,  and  the 
hinges  of  the  door  were  deep  in  rust.  No 
friendly  light  gleamed  at  night  from  the  lat 
tice,  a  beacon  to  the  wayfarer  or  a  message 
of  cheer  to  the  disheartened,  since  the  little 
house  was  alone.  ( The  secret  spinners  had 
hung  a  drapery  of  cobwebs  before  the  desolate 
windows,  as  though  to  veil  the  loneliness  from 
passers-by.  No  fire  warmed  the  solitary 
hearth,  no  gay  and  careless  laughter  betrayed 
the  sleeping  echoes  into  answer.  Within  the 
house  were  only  dreams,  which  never  had 
come  true. 
A  bit  of  sewing  yet  lay  upon  the  marble- 


JFfre  Was  TktnD 


topped  table  in  the  sitting-room,  and  an  em 
broidery  frame,  holding  still  a  square  of  fine 
linen,  had  fallen  from  a  chair.  An  open  book 
was  propped  against  the  back  of  the  chair, 
and  a  low  rocker,  facing  it,  was  swerved 
sharply  aside.  The  evidence  of  daily  occupation, 
suddenly  interrupted,  was  all  there — a  quiet 
content,  overlaid  by  a  dumb,  creeping  paralysis. 

The  March  wind  blew  fiercely  through  the 
night  and  the  little  house  leaned  yet  more 
toward  the  sheltering  hill.  Afar,  in  the  vil 
lage,  a  train  rumbled  into  the  station;  the  mid 
night  train  from  the  city  by  which  the  people 
of  Rushton  regulated  their  watches  and  clocks. 
Strangely  enough,  it  stopped,  and  more  than 
one  good  man,  turning  uneasily  upon  his  pil 
low,  wondered  if  the  world  might  have  come 
to  its  end. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  a  lone  figure  as 
cended  the  steep  road  which  led  to  the  house. 
A  woman,  fearless  of  the  night,  because  Life 
had  already  done  its  worst  to  her,  stumbled 
up  the  stony,  overgrown  way.  The  moon 
shone  fitfully  among  the  flying  clouds,  and  she 
guided  herself  by  its  uncertain  gleams,  pausing 
now  and  then,  in  complete  darkness,  to  wait 
for  more  light. 


"TTbe  jfire 

TKRaa 


H  Spinner  in  tbeSun 


"TCbe  ffire 
Idas 
Tfcinfc" 


Ghost-like,  a  long  white  chiffon  veil  trailed 
behind  her,  too  securely  fastened  to  her  hat 
to  be  blown  away.  Even  in  the  night,  she 
watched  furtively  and  listened  for  approaching 
footsteps,  one  hand  holding  the  end  of  her 
veil  in  such  a  way  that  she  might  quickly 
hide  her  face. 

Outside  the  gate  she  paused,  irresolute.  At 
the  last  moment,  it  seemed  as  if  she  could 
never  enter 'the  house  again.  A  light  snow 
had  fallen  upon  the  dead  garden,  covering  its 
scarred  face  with  white.  Miss  Evelina  noted 
quickly  that  her  garden,  too,  was  hidden  as 
by  chiffon. 

A  gust  of  wind  made  her  shiver — or  was  it 
the  veiled  garden  ?  Nerving  herself  to  her 
necessity,  she  took  up  her  satchel  and  went  up 
the  path  as  one  might  walk,  with  bared  feet, 
up  a  ladder  of  swords.  Each  step  that  took 
her  nearer  the  house  hurt  her  the  more,  but 
she  was  not  of  those  who  cry  out  when  hurt. 
She  set  her  lips  more  firmly  together  and  con 
tinued  upon  her  self-appointed  way. 

When  she  reached  the  house,  she  already  had 
the  key  in  her  uncertain  fingers.  The  rusty 
lock  yielded  at  length  and  the  door  opened 
noisily.  Her  heart  surged  painfully  as  she 


Ube  fire  TKHas 


entered  the  musty  darkness.  It  was  so  that 
Miss  Evelina  came  home,  after  five-and- 
twenty  years. 

The  thousand  noises  of  an  empty  house 
greeted  her  discordantly.  A  rattling  window 
was  answered  by  a  creaking  stair,  a  rafter 
groaned  dismally,  and  the  scurrying  feet  of 
mice  pattered  across  a  distant  floor. 

Fumbling  in  her  satchel,  Miss  Evelina  drew 
out  a  candle  and  a  box  of  matches.  Presently 
there  was  light  in  the  little  house — a  faint 
glimmering  light,  which  flickered  when  the 
wind  shook  the  walls,  and  twinkled  again 
bravely  when  it  ceased. 

She  took  off  her  wraps,  and,  through  force 
of  habit,  pinned  the  multitudinous  folds  of 
her  veil  to  her  hair,  forgetting  that  at  midnight, 
and  in  her  own  house,  there  were  none  to  see 
her  face. 

Then  she  made  a  fire,  for  the  body  must  be 
warmed,  though  the  heart  is  dead,  and  the 
soul  stricken  dumb.  She  had  brought  with 
her  a  box  containing  a  small  canister  of  tea, 
and  she  soon  had  ready  a  cup  of  it,  so  strong 
that  it  was  bitter. 

With  her  feet  upon  the  hearth  and  the  single 
candle  flickering  upon  the  mantel  shelf,  she 


"ttbefffre 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


"TTbejffre 
TOlas 
1Rin&" 


sat  in  the  lonely  house  and  sipped  her  tea. 
Her  well-worn  black  gown  clung  closely  to  her 
figure,  and  the  white  chiffon  veil,  thrown  back, 
did  not  wholly  hide  her  abundant  hair.  The 
horror  of  one  night  had  whitened  Miss  Evelina's 
brown  hair  at  twenty,  for  the  sorrows  of  Youth 
are  unmercifully  keen. 

"  I  have  come  back,"  she  thought.  "  I  have 
come  back  through  that  door.  I  went  out  of 
it,  laughing,  at  twenty.  At  forty-five,  I  have 
come  back,  heart-broken,  and  I  have  lived. 

"Why  did  I  not  die?"  she  questioned,  for 
the  thousandth  time.  "If  there  had  been  a 
God  in  Heaven,  surely  I  must  have  died." 

The  flames  leaped  merrily  in  the  fireplace 
and  the  discordant  noises  of  the  house  resolved 
themselves  into  vague  harmony.  A  cricket, 
safely  ensconced  for  the  Winter  in  a  crevice 
of  the  hearth,  awoke  in  the  unaccustomed 
warmth,  piping  a  shrill  and  cheery  welcome, 
but  Miss  Evelina  sat  abstractedly,  staring  into 
the  fire. 

After  all,  there  had  never  been  anything  but 
happiness  in  the  house — the  misery  had  been 
outside.  Peace  and  quiet  content  had  dwelt 
there  securely,  but  the  memory  of  it  brought 
no  balm  now. 


"  Ube  ffire  Mas  1fcin& 


As  though  it  were  yesterday,  the  black- 
walnut  chair,  covered  with  haircloth,  stood 
primly  against  the  wall.  Miss  Evelina  had 
always  hated  the  chair,  and  here,  after  twenty- 
five  years,  it  confronted  her  again.  She  mused, 
ironically,  upon  the  permanence  of  things 
usually  considered  transient  and  temporary. 
Her  mother's  sewing  was  still  upon  the  marble- 
topped  table,  but  the  hands  that  held  it  were 
long  since  mingled  with  the  dust.  Her  own 
embroidery  had  apparently  but  just  fallen 
from  the  chair,  and  the  dream  that  had  led  to 
its  fashioning — was  only  a  dream,  from  which 
she  awoke  to  enduring  agony.  With  swift 
hatred,  she  turned  her  back  upon  the  em 
broidery  frame,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Time,  as  time,  had  ceased  to  exist  for  her. 
She  suffered  until  suffering  brought  its  own  far 
anodyne — the  inability  to  sustain  it  further, — 
then  she  slept,  from  sheer  weariness.  Before 
dawn,  usually,  she  awoke,  sufficiently  rested 
to  suffer  again.  When  she  felt  faint,  she  ate, 
scarcely  knowing  what  she  ate,  for  food  was  as 
dust  and  ashes  in  her  mouth. 

In  the  bag  that  hung  from  her  belt  was  a 
vial  of  laudanum,  renewed  from  time  to  time 
as  she  feared  its  strength  was  waning.  She 


"tbe  ffh-e 

Idas 


H  Sttinnet  in  tb 


ttbe  fft 
"CClas 
Tktn&" 


had  been  taught  that  it  was  wicked  to  take 
one's  own  life,  and  that  God  was  always  kind. 
Not  having  experienced  the  kindness,  she  be 
gan  to  doubt  the  existence  of  God,  and  was 
immediately  face  to  face  with  the  idea  that  it 
could  not  be  wrong  to  die  if  one  was  too  miser 
able  to  live.  Her  mind  revolved  perpetually 
in  this  circle  and  came  continually  back  to  a 
compromise.  She  would  live  one  more  day, 
and  then  she  would  free  herself.  There  was 
always  a  to-morrow  when  she  should  be  free, 
but  it  never  came. 

The  fire  died  down  and  the  candle  had  but 
a  few  minutes  more  to  burn.  It  was  the  hour 
of  the  night  when  life  is  at  its  lowest — when 
souls  pass  out  into  the  great  Beyond.  Miss 
Evelina  took  the  vial  from  her  reticule  and 
uncorked  it.  The  bitter,  pungent  odour  came 
as  sweet  incense  to  her  nostrils.  No  one  knew 
she  had  come.  No  one  would  ever  enter  her 
door  again.  She  might  die  peacefully  in  her 
own  house,  and  no  one  would  know  until  the 
walls  crumbled  to  dust — perhaps  not  even 
then.  And  Miss  Evelina  had  a  horror  of  a 
grave. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  the  bitterness. 
The  silken  leaves  of  the  poppies — flowers  of 


Ube  ff ire  TKftas  TkinD  " 


sleep — had  been  crushed  into  this.  The  lees 
must  be  drained  from  the  Cup  of  Life  before 
the  Cup  could  be  set  aside.  Every  one  came  to 
this,  sooner  or  later.  Why  not  choose  ?  Why 
not  drain  the  Cup  now?  When  it  had  all  been 
bitter,  why  hesitate  to  drink  the  lees  ? 

The  monstrous  and  incredible  passion  of 
the  race  was  slowly  creeping  upon  her.  Her 
eyes  gleamed  and  her  cheeks  burned.  The 
hunger  for  death  at  her  own  hands  and  on  her 
own  terms  possessed  her  frail  body  to  the  full. 
"  If  there  had  been  a  God  in  Heaven/'  she 
said,  aloud,  "  surely  I  must  have  died!" 

The  words  startled  her  and  her  hand  shook 
so  that  some  of  the  laudanum  was  spilled. 
It  was  long  since  she  had  heard  her  own  voice 
in  more  than  a  monosyllabic  answer  to  some 
necessary  question.  Inscrutably  veiled  in 
many  folds  of  chiffon,  she  held  herself  apart 
from  the  world,  and  the  world,  carelessly  kind, 
had  left  her  wholly  to  herself. 

Slowly,  she  put  the  cork  tightly  into  the 
vial  and  slipped  it  back  into  her  bag.  "To.- 
morrow,"  she  sighed;  ''to-morrow  I  shall  set 
myself  free." 

The  fire  flickered  and  without  warning  the 
candle  went  out,  in  a  gust  of  wind  which  shook 


'"Che  jffre 
TOlaa 


10 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"ttbc  ffire 
TJClas 
Tktn&" 


the  house  to  its  foundations.  Stray  currents 
of  air  had  come  through  the  crevices  of  the 
rattling  windows  and  kept  up  an  imperfect 
ventilation.  She  took  another  candle  from 
her  satchel,  put  it  into  a  candlestick  of  black 
ened  brass,  and  slowly  ascended  the  stairs. 

She  went  to  her  own  room,  though  her  feet 
failed  her  at  the  threshold  and  she  sank 
helplessly  to  the  floor.  Too  weak  to  stand, 
she  made  her  way  on  her  knees  to  her  bed, 
leaving  the  candle  in  the  hall,  just  outside 
her  door.  As  she  had  suspected,  it  was  hardest 
of  all  to  enter  this  room. 

A  pink  and  white  gown  of  dimity,  yellowed, 
and  grimed  with  dust,  yet  lay  upon  her  bed. 
Cobwebs  were  woven  over  the  lace  that 
trimmed  the  neck  and  sleeves.  Out  of  the 
fearful  shadows,  mute  reminders  of  a  lost 
joy  mocked  her  from  every  corner  of  the  room. 

She  knelt  there  until  some  measure  of 
strength  came  back  to  her,  and,  with  it,  a 
mad  fancy.  "To-night,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  I  will  be  brave.  For  once  I  will  play  a  part, 
since  to-morrow  I  shall  be  free.  To-night,  it 
shall  be  as  though  nothing  had  happened — 
as  though  I  were  to  be  married  to-morrow 
and  not  to — to  Death!" 


ff ire  Mas  Tfcfnfc  " 


She  laughed  wildly,  and,  even  to  her  own 
ears,  it  had  a  fantastic,  unearthly  sound.  The 
empty  rooms  took  up  the  echo  and  made 
merry  with  it,  the  sound  dying  at  last  into  a 
silence  like  that  of  the  tomb. 

She  brought  in  the  candle,  took  the  dimity 
gown  from  the  bed,  and  shook  it  to  remove 
the  dust.  In  her  hands  it  fell  apart,  broken, 
because  it  was  too  frail  to  tear.  She  laid  it  on 
a  chair,  folding  it  carefully,  then  took  the 
dusty  bedding  from  her  bed  and  carried  it 
into  the  hall,  dust  and  all.  In  an  oaken 
chest  in  a  corner  of  her  room  was  her  store  of 
linen,  hemmed  exquisitely  and  embroidered 
with  the  initials:  "  E.  G." 

She  began  to  move  about  feverishly,  fearing 
that  her  resolution  might  fail.  The  key  of 
the  chest  was  in  a  drawer  in  her  dresser,  hidden 
beneath  a  pile  of  yellowed  garments.  Her 
hands,  so  long  nerveless,  were  alive  and  sen 
tient  now.  When  she  opened  the  chest,  the 
scent  of  lavender  and  rosemary,  long  since 
dead,  struck  her  like  a  blow. 

The  room  swam  before  her,  yet  Miss  Evelina 
dragged  forth  her  linen  sheets  and  pillow 
slips,  musty,  but  clean,  and  made  her  bed. 
Once  or  twice,  her  veil  slipped  down  over  her 


"Cbe  iff  re 
TClas 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"Cbe  ff  ire 

"CClas 


face,  and  she  impatiently  pushed  it  back. 
The  candle,  burning  low,  warned  her  -that 
she  must  make  haste. 

In  one  of  the  smaller  drawers  of  her  dresser 
was  a  nightgown  of  sheerest  linen,  wonderfully 
stitched  by  her  own  hands.  She  hesitated  a 
moment,  then  opened  the  drawer. 

Tiny  bags  of  sweet  herbs  fell  from  the  folds 
as  she  shook  it  out.  It  was  yellowed  and 
musty  and  as  frail  as  a  bit  of  fine  lace,  but  it 
did  not  tear  in  her  hands.  "  I  will  wear  it/' 
she  thought,  grimly,  "  as  I  planned  to  do, 
long  ago." 

At  last  she  stood  before  her  mirror,  the 
ivory-tinted  lace  falling  away  from  her  neck 
and  shoulders.  Her  neck  was  white  and  firm, 
but  her  right  shoulder  was  deeply,  hideously 
scarred.  "  Burned  body  and  burned  soul/' 
she  muttered,  "and  this  my  wedding  night!" 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  pitied 
herself,  not  knowing  that  self-pity  is  the  first 
step  toward  relief  from  overpowering  sorrow. 
When  detachment  is  possible,  the  long,  slow 
healing  has  faintly,  but  surely,  begun. 

She  unpinned  her  veil,  took  down  her 
heavy  white  hair,  and  braided  it.  There  was 
no  gleam  of  silver,  even  in  the  light — it  was 


fflre  Mas 


as  lustreless  as  a  field  of  snow  upon  a  dark 
day.  That  done,  she  stood  there,  staring  at 
herself  in  the  mirror,  and  living  over,  re 
morselessly,  the  one  day  that,  like  a  lightning 
stroke,  had  blasted  her  life. 

Her  veil  slipped,  unheeded,  from  her  dresser 
to  the  floor.  Leaning  forward,  she  studied 
her  face,  that  she  had  once  loved,  then  swiftly 
learned  to  hate.  Even  on  the  street,  closely 
veiled,  she  would  not  look  at  a  shop  window, 
lest  she  might  see  herself  reflected  in  the 
plate  glass,  and  she  had  kept  the  mirror  in 
her  room  covered  with  a  cloth. 

Since  the  day  she  left  the  hospital,  where 
they  all  had  been  so  kind  to  her,  no  human 
being,  save  herself,  had  seen  her  face.  She 
had  prayed  for  death,  but  had  not  been  more 
than  slightly  ill,  upborne,  as  she  was,  by  a 
great  grief  which  sustained  her  as  surely  as  an 
ascetic  is  kept  alive  by  the  passion  of  his  faith. 
She  hungered  now  for  the  sight  of  her  face  as 
she  hungered  for  death,  and  held  the  flaring 
candle  aloft  that  she  might  see  better. 

Then  a  wave  of  impassioned  self-pity  swept 
her  like  flame.  "  The  fire  was  kind,"  she  said, 
stubbornly,  as  though  to  defend  herself  from 
it.  "It  showed  me  the  truth." 


"Sbe  jfire 
TK2la8 
Hint)" 


i4 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


sne  leaned  yet  closer  to  the  glass,  holding 

"Odas  t       <  ° 

min&"  the  dripping  candle  on  high.  ;'The  fire  was 
kind,"  she  insisted  again.  Then  the  flood 
gates  opened,  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  the 
sorrowful  years,  she  felt  the  hot  tears  streaming 
over  her  face.  Her  hand  shook,  but  she  held 
her  candle  tightly  and  leaned  so  close  to  the 
mirror  that  her  white  hair  brushed  its  cracked 
surface. 

"The  fire  was  kind,"  sobbed  Miss  Evelina. 
"Oh,  but  the  fire  was  kind!" 


II 

flDebitable 


THE  slanting  sunbeams  of  late  afternoon 
crept  through  the  cobwebbed  window, 
and  Miss  Evelina  stirred  uneasily  in  her  sleep. 
The  mocking  dream  vanished  and  she  awoke 
to  feel,  as  always,  the  iron,  icy  hand  that 
unmercifully  clutched  her  heart.  The  room 
was  cold  and  she  shivered  as  she  lay  beneath 
her  insufficient  covering. 

At  length  she  rose,  and  dressed  mechan 
ically,  avoiding  the  mirror,  and  pinning  her 
veil  securely  to  her  hair.  She  went  down 
stairs  slowly,  clinging  to  the  railing  from 
sheer  weakness.  She  was  as  frail  and  ghostly 
as  some  disembodied  spirit  of  Grief. 

Soon,  she  had  a  fire.  As  the  warmth  in 
creased,  she  opened  the  rear  door  of  the  house 
to  dispel  the  musty  atmosphere.  The  March 
wind  blew  strong  and  clear  through  the  lonely 
rooms,  stirring  the  dust  before  it  and  swaying 


Ittebttable 


i6 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Miss 
flDcbitable 


the  cobwebs.  Suddenly,  Miss  Evelina  heard 
a  footstep  outside  and  instinctively  drew  down 
her  veil. 

Before  she  could  close  the  door,  a  woman, 
with  a  shawl  over  her  head,  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  peered  curiously  into  the  house, 
then  unhesitatingly  entered. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  cried  a  cheery  voice. 
*'  You  scared  me  most  to  death!  I  saw  the 
smoke  coming  from  the  chimney  and  thought 
the  house  was  afire,  so  I  come  over  to  see." 

Miss  Evelina  stiffened,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  are/'  said  the 
woman  again,  mildly  defiant,  "  but  this  is 
Evelina  Grey's  house." 

"And  I,"  answered  Miss  Evelina,  almost 
inaudibly,  "am  Evelina  Grey." 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  cried  the  visitor 
again.  "Don't  you  remember  me?  Why, 
Evelina,  you  and  I  used  to  go  to  school  to 
gether.  You— — " 

She  stopped,  abruptly.  The  fact  of  the 
veiled  face  confronted  her  stubbornly.  She 
ransacked  her  memory  for  a  forgotten  catas 
trophe,  a  quarter  of  a  century  back.  Im 
penetrably,  a  wall  was  reared  between  them. 

"I — I  'm  afraid  I  don't  remember,"  stam- 


ss  /iDebitable 


mered  Miss  Evelina,  in  a  low  voice,  hoping 
that  the  intruder  would  go. 

"  I  used  to  be  Mehitable  Smith,  and  that 's 
what  I  am  still,  having  been  spared  marriage. 
Mehitable  is  my  name,  but  folks  calls  me 
Hitty — Miss  Hitty,"  she  added,  with  a  slight 
accent  on  the  "  Miss." 

"Oh,"  answered  Miss  Evelina,  "I  remem 
ber,"  though  she  did  not  remember  at  all. 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  've  come  back,"  went 
on  the  guest,  politely.  Altogether  in  the 
manner  of  one  invited  to  do  so,  she  removed 
her  shawl  and  sat  down,  furtively  eyeing  Miss 
Evelina,  yet  affecting  to  look  carelessly  about 
the  house. 

She  was  a  woman  of  fifty  or  more,  brisk  and 
active  of  body  and  kindly,  though  inquisi 
tive,  of  countenance.  Her  dark  hair,  scarcely 
touched  with  grey,  was  parted  smoothly  in 
the  exact  centre  and  plastered  down  on  both 
sides,  as  one  guessed,  by  a  brush  and  cold 
water.  Her  black  eyes  were  bright  and  keen, 
and  her  gold-bowed  spectacles  were  habitually 
worn  half-way  down  her  nose.  Her  mouth 
and  chin  were  indicative  of  great  firmness — 
those  whose  misfortune  it  was  to  differ  from 
Miss  Hitty  were  accustomed  to  call  it  obstinacy. 


/DM00 
flDebitable 


i8 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ADebttable 


People     of     plainer     speech     said     it     was 
"  mulishness." 

Her  gown  was  dark  calico,  stiffly  starched, 
and  made  according  to  the  durable  and  com 
fortable  pattern  of  her  school-days.  "  All  in 
one  piece/'  Miss  Hitty  was  wont  to  say. 
"  Then  when  I  bend  over,  as  folks  that  does 
housework  has  to  bend  over,  occasionally, 
I  don't  come  apart  in  the  back.  For  my 
part,  I  never  could  see  sense  in  wearing 
clothes  that 's  held  by  a  safety-pin  in  the  back 
instead  of  good,  firm  cloth,  and,  moreover, 
a  belt  that  either  slides  around  or  pinches 
where  it  ain't  pleasant  to  be  pinched,  ain't 
my  notion  of  comfort.  Apron  strings  is  bad 
enough,  for  you  have  to  have  'em  tight  to  keep 
from  slipping."  Miss  Hitty  had  never  worn 
corsets,  and  had  the  straight,  slender  figure  of 
a  boy. 

The  situation  became  awkward.  Miss  Eve 
lina  still  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  her 
veiled  face  slightly  averted.  The  impene 
trable  shelter  of  chiffon  awed  Miss  Mehitable, 
but  she  was  not  a  woman  to  give  up  easily 
when  embarked  upon  the  quest  for  knowledge. 
Some  unusual  state  of  mind  kept  her  from 
asking  a  direct  question  about  the  veil,  and 


/IDebitable 


meanwhile  she  continually  racked  her  memory. 

Miss  Evelina's  white,  slender  hands  opened 
and  closed  nervously.  Miss  Hitty  set  her  feet 
squarely  on  the  floor,  and  tucked  her  im 
maculate  white  apron  closely  about  her  knees. 
"  When  did  you  come  ?"  she  demanded  finally, 
with  the  air  of  the  attorney  for  the  prosecution. 

"Last  night/'  murmured  Miss  Evelina. 

"  On  that  late  train?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  heard  it  stop,  but  I  never  sensed  it  was 
you.  Seemed  to  me  I  heard  somebody  go  by, 
too,  but  I  was  too  sleepy  to  get  up  and  see. 
I  thought  I  must  be  dreaming,  but  I  was  sure 
I  heard  somebody  on  the  walk.  If  I  'd  known 
it  was  you,  I  'd  have  made  you  stop  at  my 
house  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  instead  of 
coming  up  here  alone." 

"Very  kind,"  said  Miss  Evelina,  after  an 
uncomfortable  pause. 

"You  might  as  well  set  down,"  remarked 
Miss  Hitty,  with  a  new  gentleness  of  manner. 
"  I  'm  going  to  set  a  spell." 

Miss  Evelina  sat,  helplessly,  in  the  hair 
cloth  chair  which  she  hated,  and  turned  her 
veiled  face  yet  farther  away  from  her  guest. 
Seeing  that  her  hostess  did  not  intend  to  talk, 


Oblea 
JBebitable 


20 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Mebttable 


Miss  Hitty  began  a  conversation,  if  anything 
wholly  one-sided  may  be  so  termed. 

"  I  live  in  the  same  place,"  she  said.  "  Ma 
died  seventeen  years  ago  on  the  eighteenth 
of  next  April,  and  left  the  house  and  the  income 
for  me.  There  was  enough  to  take  care  of 
two,  and  so  I  took  my  sister's  child,  Araminta, 
to  bring  up.  You  know  my  poor  sister  got 
married.  She  ought  to  have  known  better, 
but  she  did  n't.  She  just  put  her  head  into 
the  noose,  and  it  slipped  up  on  her,  as  I  told 
her  it  would,  both  before  and  after  the  cere 
mony.  Having  seen  all  the  trouble  men 
make  in  the  world,  I  sh'd  think  women  would 
know  enough  to  keep  away  from  'em,  but 
they  don't— that  is,  some  women  don't." 
Miss  Hitty  smoothed  her  stiff  white  apron 
with  an  air  of  conscious  virtue. 

"  Araminta  was  only  a  year  old  when  her 
ma  got  enough  of  marrying  and  went  to  her 
reward  in  Heaven.  What  she  'd  been  through 
would  have  tried  the  patience  of  a  saint,  and 
Barbara  was  n't  no  saint.  None  of  the  Smith 
family  have  ever  grown  wings  here  on  earth, 
but  it 's  my  belief  that  we  '11  all  be  awarded 
our  proper  plumage  in  Heaven. 

"  He — "  the  pronoun  was   sufficiently  de- 


21 


finite  to  indicate  Araminta's  hapless  father — 
"  was  always  tracking  dirt  into  the  clean 
kitchen,  and  he  had  an  appetite  like  a  horse. 
Barbara  would  make  a  cake  to  set  away  for 
company,  and  he  'd  gobble  it  all  up  at  one 
meal  just  as  if  't  was  a  doughnut.  She  was 
forever  cooking  and  washing  dishes  and 
sweeping  up  after  him.  When  he  come  into 
the  house,  she  'd  run  for  the  broom  and  dustpan, 
and  follow  him  around,  sweeping  up,  and  if 
you  '11  believe  me,  the  brute  scolded  her  for  it. 
He  actually  said  once,  in  my  presence,  that 
if  he  'd  known  how  neat  she  was,  he  did  n't 
believe  he  'd  have  married  her.  That  shows 
what  men  are — if  it  needs  showing.  It  's  no 
wonder  poor  Barbara  died.  I  hope  there 
ain't  any  brooms  in  Heaven  and  that  she 's 
havin'  a  good  rest  now. 

"  Araminta  's  goin'  on  nineteen,  and  she 's 
a  sensible  girl,  if  I  do  say  it  as  shouldn't. 
She  's  never  spoke  to  a  man  except  to  say  *  yes* 
and  '  no.'  I  've  taught  her  to  steer  clear  of 
'em,  and  even  when  she  was  only  seven  years 
old,  she  'd  run  if  she  saw  one  coming.  She 
knows  they  're  pizen  and  I  don't  believe  I  '11 
ever  have  any  cause  to  worry  about  Minty. 

"  I  've  got  the  minister  boarding  with  me," 


ttoiso 
ADebttable 


22 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


/DMes 
dDebltabte 


pursued  Miss  Hitty,  undaunted,  and  cheer 
fully  taking  a  fresh  start.  "  Ministers  don't 
count,  and  I  must  say  that,  for  a  man,  Mr. 
Thorpe  is  very  little  trouble.  He  wipes  his 
feet  sometimes  for  as  much  as  five  minutes 
when  he  's  coming  in,  and  mostly,  when  it 's 
pleasant  weather,  he  's  out.  When  he  's  in, 
he  usually  stays  in  his  room,  except  at  meals. 
He  don't  eat  much  more  'n  a  canary,  and  likes 
what  he  eats,  and  don't  need  hardly  any 
pickin'  up  after,  though  a  week  ago  last  Satur 
day  he  left  a  collar  layin'  on  the  bureau  in 
stead  of  putting  it  into  his  bag. 

"  I  left  it  right  where  't  was,  and  Sunday 
morning  he  put  it  where  it  belonged.  He  's 
never  been  married  and  he  's  learned  to  pick 
up  after  himself.  I  would  n't  have  had  him, 
on  Araminta's  account,  only  that  there  was  n't 
no  other  place  for  him  to  stay,  and  it  was  put 
to  me  by  the  elders  as  being  my  Christian 
duty.  I  would  n't  have  took  him,  otherwise, 
and  we  've  never  had  an  unmarried  minister 
before. 

"  Besides,  Mr.  Thorpe  ain't  pleasing  the 
congregation,  and  I  don't  know  that  he  '11 
stay  long.  He  's  been  here  six  months  and 
three  Sundays  over,  and  I  've  been  to  every 


flDebftable 


single  service,  church  and  Sunday-school  and 
prayer-meeting,  and  he  ain't  never  said  one 
word  about  hell.  It 's  all  of  the  joys  of  Heaven 
and  a  sure  reward  in  the  hereafter  for  every 
body  that 's  done  what  they  think  is  right — 
nothing  much,  mind  you,  about  what  is  right. 
Why,  when  Mr.  Brewster  was  preaching  for  us, 
some  of  the  sinners  would  get  up  and  run  right 
out  of  the  church  when  he  got  started  on  hell 
and  the  lost  souls  writhin'  in  the  flames.  That 
was  a  minister  worth  having. 

"  But  Mr.  Thorpe,  now,  he  does  n't  seem  to 
have  no  sense  of  the  duties  of  his  position. 
Week  before  last,  I  heard  of  his  walkin'  along 
the  river  with  Andy  Rogers — arm  in  arm,  if 
you  '11  believe  me,  with  the  worst  drunkard 
and  chicken  thief  in  town.  The  very  idea  of 
a  minister  associatin'  with  sinners!  Mr.  Brew 
ster  would  never  have  done  that.  Why,  Andy 
was  one  of  them  that  run  out  of  the  church 
the  day  the  minister  give  us  that  movin'  sermon 
on  hell,  and  he  ain't  never  dared  to  show  his 
face  in  a  place  of  worship  since. 

"  As  I  said,  I  don't  think  Mr.  Thorpe  '11  be 
with  us  long,  for  the  vestry  and  the  congre 
gation  is  getting  dissatisfied.  There  ain't  been 
any  open  talk,  except  in  the  Ladies*  Aid 


tote* 
flDebitable 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


fifties 
flDebitable 


Society,  but  public  opinion  is  settin'  pretty 
strongly  in  that  direction. "  Miss  Hitty  dropped 
her  final  g's  when  she  got  thoroughly  interested 
in  her  subject  and  at  times  became  deeply 
involved  in  grammatical  complications. 

"  Us  older  ones,  that 's  strong  in  the  faith, 
ain't  likely  to  be  injured  by  it,  I  suppose,  but 
there 's  always  the  young  ones  to  be  considered, 
and  it  's  highly  important  for  Araminta  to 
have  the  right  kind  of  influence.  Of  course 
Mr.  Thorpe  don't  talk  on  religious  subjects  at 
home,  and  I  ain't  let  Araminta  go  to  church 
the  last  two  Sundays.  Meanwhile,  I  've  talked 
hell  to  her  stronger  'n  common. 

"  But,  upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know  what 
Rushton  is  comin'  to.  A  month  or  so  ago, 
there  was  an  outlandish,  heathen  character 
come  here  that  beats  anything  I  've  ever  heard 
tell  of.  His  name  is  Tom  Barnaby  and  he  's 
set  up  a  store  on  the  edge  of  town,  in  the  front 
parlour  of  Widow  Simon's  house.  She  's  went 
and  rented  it  to  him,  and  she  says  he  pays  his 
rent  regular. 

"  He  wears  leather  leggings  and  a  hat  with  a 
red  feather  stuck  in  it,  and  he  's  gone  into 
competition  with  Mrs.  Allen,  who  's  kept  the 
dry-goods  here  for  the  last  twenty  years. 


/IDebitable 


Of  course,"  she  went  on,  a  little  wistfully,  at^se 
"  I  've  always  patronised  Mrs.  Allen,  and  I 
always  shall.  They  do  say  Barnaby's  goods 
is  a  great  deal  cheaper,  but  I  'd  feel  it  my  duty 
to  buy  of  a  woman,  anyhow,  even  though  she 
has  been  married.  She  's  been  a  widow  for  so 
long,  it  's  most  the  same  as  if  she  'd  never  been 
married  at  all. 

"  Barnaby  lives  with  a  dog  and  does  for 
himself,  but  he  's  hardly  ever  in  his  store. 
People  go  there  to  buy  things  and  find  the 
door  propped  open  with  a  brick,  and  a  sign  says 
to  come  in  and  take  what  you  want.  The 
price  of  everything  is  marked  good  and  plain, 
and  another  sign  says  to  put  the  money  in 
the  drawer  and  make  your  own  change.  The 
blacksmith  was  at  him  for  doing  business  so 
shiftless,  and  Barnaby  laughed  and  said  that 
if  anybody  wanted  anything  he  had  bad 
enough  to  steal  it,  whoever  it  was,  he  was 
good  and  welcome  to  it.  That  just  shows 
how  crazy  he  is.  Most  of  the  time  he  's  roam 
ing  around  the  country,  with  his  yellow  dog 
at  his  heels,  making  outlandish  noises  on  some 
kind  of  a  flute.  He  can't  play  a  tune,  but  he 
keeps  trying.  Folks  around  here  call  him 
Piper  Tom. 


26 


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/BMss 
flDebttable 


"  Of  course  I  would  n't  want  Mrs.  Allen  to 
know,  but  I  've  thought  that  sometime  when 
he  was  away  and  there  was  nobody  there  to 
see,  I  'd  just  step  in  for  a  few  minutes  and  take 
a  look  at  his  goods.  Elmiry  Jones  says  his 
calico  is  beautiful,  and  that  for  her  part,  she  's 
going  to  trade  there  instead  of  at  Allen's. 
I  suppose  it  is  a  temptation.  I  might  do 
it  myself,  if  't  want  for  my  principles." 

The  speaker  paused  for  breath,  but  Miss 
Evelina  still  sat  silently  in  her  chair.  "  What 
was  it?"  thought  Miss  Hitty.  "  I  was  here, 
and  I  knew  at  the  time,  but  what  happened  ? 
How  did  I  come  to  forget?  I  must  be  getting 
old!" 

She  searched  her  memory  without  result. 
Her  house  was  situated  at  the  crossroads,  and, 
being  on  higher  ground,  commanded  a  good 
view  of  the  village  below.  Gradually,  her 
dooryard  had  become  a  sort  of  clearing  house 
for  neighbourhood  gossip.  Travellers  going 
and  coming  stopped  at  Miss  Hitty's  to  drink 
from  the  moss-grown  well,  give  their  bit  of 
news,  and  receive,  in  return,  the  scandal  of 
the  countryside.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
faithful  and  industrious  Miss  Mehitable,  the 
town  might  have  needed  a  daily  paper. 


/iDebttable 


"  Strange  I  can't  think/'  she  said  to  herself. 
"  I  don't  doubt  it  '11  come  to  me,  though. 
Something  happened  to  Evelina,  and  she  went 
away,  and  her  mother  went  with  her  to 
take  care  of  her,  and  then  her  mother  died, 
all  at  once,  of  heart  failure.  It  happened  the 
same  week  old  Mis'  Hicks  had  a  doctor  from 
the  city  for  an  operation,  and  the  Millerses 
barn  was  struck  by  lightning  and  burnt  up, 
and  so  I  s'pose  it 's  no  wonder  I  've  sorter  lost 
track  of  it." 

Miss  Evelina's  veiled  face  was  wholly  avert 
ed  now,  and  Miss  Hitty  studied  her  shrewdly. 
She  noted  that  the  black  gown  was  well-worn, 
and  had,  indeed,  been  patched  in  several 
places.  The  shoes  which  tapped  impatiently 
on  the  floor  were  undeniably  shabby,  though 
they  had  been  carefully  blacked.  Against 
the  unrelieved  sombreness  of  her  gown,  Miss 
Evelina's  hands  were  singularly  frail  and 
transparent.  Every  line  of  her  body  was 
eloquent  of  weakness  and  well-nigh  insup 
portable  grief. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Hitty,  again,  though  she 
felt  that  the  words  were  flat;  "  I  'm  glad 
you  've  come  back.  It  seems  like  old  times  for 
us  to  be  settin'  here,  talkin',  and — "  here  she 


flDebttable 


28 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Okies 
flDebltable 


laughed  shrilly — "  we  've  both  been  spared 
marriage/' 

A  small,  slender  hand  clutched  convulsively 
at  the  arm  of  the  haircloth  chair,  but  Miss 
Evelina  did  not  speak. 

"  I  see,"  went  on  Miss  Hitty,  not  unkindly, 
"  that  you  're  still  in  mourning  for  your  mother. 
You  must  n't  take  it  so  hard.  Sometimes 
folks  get  to  feeling  so  sorry  about  something 
that  they  can't  never  get  over  it,  and  they 
keep  on  going  round  and  round  all  the  time 
like  a  squirrel  in  a  wheel,  and  keep  on  getting 
weaker  till  it  gets  to  be  a  kind  of  disease  there 
ain't  no  cure  for.  Leastwise,  that  's  what 
Doctor  Dexter  says." 

"  Doctor  Dexter!"  With  a  cry,  Miss  Evelina 
sprang  to  her  feet,  her  hands  tightly  pressed 
to  her  heart. 

"The  same,"  nodded  Miss  Hitty,  overjoyed 
to  discover  that  at  last  her  hostess  was  inter 
ested.  "  Doctor  Anthony  Dexter,  our  old 
schoolmate,  as  had  just  graduated  when  you 
lived  here  before.  He  went  away  for  a  year 
and  then  he  came  back,  bringing  a  pretty 
young  wife.  She  's  dead,  but  he  has  a  son, 
Ralph,  who  's  away  studying  to  be  a  doctor. 
He  '11  graduate  this  Spring  and  then  he  's 


/iDebttable 


coming  here  to  help  his  father  with  his  practice. 
Doctor  Dexter 's  getting  old,  like  the  rest  of  us, 
and  he  don't  like  the  night  work.  Some  folks 
is  inconsiderate  enough  to  get  sick  in  the  night. 
They  orter  have  regular  hours  for  it,  same  as 
a  doctor  has  hours  for  business.  Things  would 
fit  better. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going,  for  I  left  soup  on 
the  stove,  and  Araminta  's  likely  as  not  to  let 
it  burn.  I  'm  going  to  send  your  supper  over  to 
you,  and  next  week,  if  the  weather  's  favour 
able,  we  '11  clean  this  house.  Goodness  knows 
it  needs  it.  I  'd  just  as  soon  send  over  all  your 
meals  till  you  get  settled — t'  would  n't  be  any 
trouble.  Or,  you  can  come  over  to  my  house 
if  you  would  n't  mind  eating  with  the  minister. 
It  seems  queer  to  set  down  to  the  table  with  a 
man,  and  not  altogether  natural,  but  I  'm 
beginning  to  get  used  to  it,  and  it  gives  us  the 
advantage  of  a  blessing,  and,  anyway,  ministers 
don't  count.  Come  over  when  you  can.  Good 
bye!" 

With  a  rustle  of  stiffly  starched  garments 
Miss  Mehitable  took  her  departure,  carefully 
closing  the  door  and  avoiding  the  appearance 
of  haste.  This  was  an  effort,  for  every  fibre 
of  her  being  ached  to  get  back  to  the  clear- 


Obies 
fl&ebitable 


H  Spinnet  in  tbe  Sun 


Miss 
ADebttabte 


ing  house,  where  she  might  speculate  upon 
Evelina's  return.  It  was  her  desire,  also,  to 
hunt  up  the  oldest  inhabitant  before  night 
fall  and  correct  her  pitiful  lapse  of  memory. 

At  the  same  time,  she  was  planning  to  send 
Araminta  over  with  a  nice  hot  supper,  for 
Miss  Evelina  seemed  to  be  far  from  strong, 
and,  even  to  one  lacking  in  discernment, 
acutely  unhappy. 

Down  the  road  she  went,  her  head  bowed  in 
deep  and  fruitless  thought.  Swiftly,  as  in  a 
lightning  flash,  and  without  premonition, 
she  remembered. 

"  Evelina  was  burnt/'  she  said  to  herself, 
triumphantly,  "  over  to  Doctor  Dexter's,  and 
they  took  her  on  the  train  to  the  hospital. 
I  guess  she  wears  that  veil  all  the  time." 

Then, Miss  Hitty  stopped  at  her  own  gate, 
catching  her  breath  quickly.  "  She  must  have 
been  burnt  awful,"  she  thought.  "  Poor  soul !" 
she  murmured,  her  sharp  eyes  softening  with 
tears.  "Poor  soul!" 


III 

pearte 


A  RAP  at  the  door  roused  Miss  Evelina 
from  a  deadly  stupor  which  seemed 
stabbed  through  with  daggers  of  pain.  She 
sat  quite  still,  determined  not  to  open  the  door. 
Presently,  she  heard  the  sound  of  retreating 
footsteps,  and  was  reassured.  Then  she  saw 
a  bit  of  folded  paper  which  had  been  slipped 
under  the  door,  and,  mechanically,  she  picked 
it  up. 

"Here  's  your  supper/'  the  note  read, 
briefly.  "When  you  get  done,  leave  the  tray 
outside.  I  '11  come  and  get  it.  I  would  like 
to  have  you  come  over  if  you  want  to.  —  ME- 
HITABLE  SMITH." 

Touched  by  the  unexpected  kindness,  Miss 
Evelina  took  in  the  tray.  There  was  a  bowl  of 
soup,  steaming  hot,  a  baked  potato,  a  bit  of 
thin  steak,  fried,  in  country  fashion,  two 
crisp,  buttered  rolls,  and  a  pot  of  tea.  Faint 


Ube  ipearls 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sim 


Ube  pearls 


and  sick  of  heart,  she  pushed  it  aside,  then 
in  simple  justice  to  Miss  Hitty,  tasted  of  the 
soup.  A  little  later,  she  put  the  tray  out  on 
the  doorstep  again,  having  eaten  as  she  had 
not  eaten  for  months. 

She  considered  the  chain  of  circumstances 
that  had  led  her  back  to  Rushton.  First,  the 
knowledge  that  Doctor  Dexter  had  left  the 
place  for  good.  She  had  heard  of  that,  long 
ago,  but,  until  now,  no  one  had  told  her  that 
he  had  returned.  She  had  thought  it  im 
possible  for  him  ever  to  return — even  to 
think  of  it  again. 

Otherwise — here  the  thread  of  her  thought 
snapped,  and  she  clutched  at  the  vial  of 
laudanum  which,  as  always,  was  in  the  bag 
at  her  belt.  She  perceived  that  the  way  of 
escape  was  closed  to  her.  Broken  in  spirit 
though  she  was,  she  was  yet  too  proud  to  die 
like  a  dog  at  Anthony  Dexter's  door,  even 
after  five-and-twenty  years. 

Bitterest  need  alone  had  driven  her  to  take 
the  step  which  she  so  keenly  regretted  now. 
The  death  of  her  mother,  hastened  by  mis 
fortune,  had  left  her  with  a  small  but  certain 
income,  paid  regularly  from  two  separate 
sources.  One  source  had  failed  without  warn- 


TTbe  pearls 


33 


ing,  and  her  slender  legacy  was  cut  literally 
in  two.  Upon  the  remaining  half  she  must  pea 
eke  out  the  rest  of  her  existence,  if  she  con 
tinued  to  exist  at  all.  It  was  absolutely 
necessary  for  her  to  come  back  to  the  one 
shelter  which  she  could  call  her  own. 

Weary,  despairing,  and  still  in  the  merciless 
grip  of  her  obsession,  she  had  come — only  to 
find  that  Anthony  Dexter  had  long  since 
preceded  her.  A  year  afterward,  Miss  Hitty 
said,  he  had  come  back,  with  a  pretty  young 
wife.  And  he  had  a  son. 

The  new  knowledge  hurt,  and  Evelina  had 
fancied  that  she  could  be  hurt  no  more,  that 
she  had  reached  the  uttermost  limits  of  pain. 
By  a  singular  irony,  the  last  refuge  was  denied 
her  at  the  very  moment  of  her  greatest  temp 
tation  to  avail  herself  of  it.  Long  hours  of 
thought  led  her  invariably  to  the  one  possible 
conclusion — to  avoid  every  one,  keep  wholly 
to  herself,  and,  by  starvation,  if  need  be,  save 
enough  of  her  insignificant  pittance  to  take 
her  far  away.  And  after  that — freedom. 

Since  the  night  of  full  realisation  which  had 
turned  her  brown  hair  to  a  dull  white  she  had 
thought  of  death  in  but  one  way — escape. 
Set  free  from  the  insufferable  bondage  of 


34 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 
Ipearls 


earthly  existence,  Miss  Evelina  dreamed  of 
peace  as  a  prisoner  in  a  dungeon  may  dream 
of  green  fields.  To  sleep  and  wake  no  more, 
never  to  feel  again  the  cold  hand  upon  her 
heart  that  tore  persistently  at  the  inmost 
fibres  of  it,  to  forget 

Miss  Evelina  took  the  vial  from  her  bag  and 
uncorked  it.  The  incense  of  the  poppies 
crept  subtly  through  the  room,  mingling 
inextricably  with  the  mustiness  and  the  dust. 
The  grey  cobwebs  swayed  at  the  windows, 
sunset  touching  them  to  iridescence.  Con 
scious  that  she  was  the  most  desolate  and 
lonely  thing  in  all  the  desolate  house,  Miss 
Evelina  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

The  poppies  breathed  from  the  vial.  In 
her  distorted  fancy,  she  saw  vast  plains  of 
them,  shimmering  in  the  sun — scarlet  like 
the  lips  of  a  girl,  pink  as  the  flush  of  dawn 
upon  the  eastern  sky,  blood-red  as  the  pas 
sionate  heart  that  never  dreamed  of  betrayal. 

The  sun  was  shining  on  the  field  of  poppies 
and  Miss  Evelina  walked  among  them,  her 
face  unveiled.  Golden  masses  of  bloom  were 
spread  at  her  feet,  starred  here  and  there  by 
stately  blossoms  as  white  as  the  blown  snow. 
Her  ragged  garments  touched  the  silken 


pearls  35 


petals,  her  worn  shoes  crushed  them,  bud  and 
blossom  alike.  Always,  the  numbing,  sleepy 
odour  came  from  the  field.  Dew  was  on  the 
petals  of  the  flowers;  their  deep  cups  gathered 
it  and  held  it,  never  to  be  surrendered,  since 
the  dew  of  the  poppies  was  tears. 

Like  some  evil  genius  rising  from  the  bottle, 
the  Spirit  of  the  Poppies  seemed  to  incarnate 
itself  in  the  vapour.  A  woman  with  a  face 
of  deadly  white  arose  to  meet  Miss  Evelina, 
with  outspread  arms.  In  her  eyes  was  Lethe, 
in  her  hands  was  the  gift  of  forgetfulness. 
She  brought  pardon  for  all  that  was  past  and  to 
come,  eternal  healing,  unfathomable  oblivion. 
"Come,"  the  drowsy  voice  seemed  to  say. 
"  I  have  waited  long  and  yet  you  do  not  come. 
The  peace  that  passeth  all  understanding  is 
mine  to  give  and  yours  to  take.  Come — only 
come!  Come!  Come!" 

Miss  Evelina  laughed  bitterly.  Never  in  all 
the  years  gone  by  had  the  Spirit  of  the  Poppies 
pleaded  with  her  thus.  Now,  at  the  hour 
when  surrender  meant  the  complete  triumph 
of  her  enemy,  the  ghostly  figure  came  to  offer 
her  the  last  and  supreme  gift. 

The  afterglow  yet  lingered  in  the  west. 
The  grey  of  a  March  twilight  was  in  the  valley, 


H  Sptnner  in  tbe  Sim 


Ube 
pearls 


but  it  was  still  late  afternoon  on  the  summit 
of  the  hill.  Miss  Evelina  drew  her  veil  about 
her  and  went  out  into  the  garden,  the  vial 
in  her  hand. 

Where  was  it  that  she  had  planted  the 
poppies?  Through  the  mass  of  undergrowth 
and  brambles,  she  made  scant  headway. 
Thorns  pressed  forward  rudely  as  if  to  stab 
the  intruder.  Vines,  closely  matted,  forbade 
her  to  pass,  yet  she  kept  on  until  she  reached 
the  western  slope  of  the  garden. 

Here,  unshaded,  and  in  the  full  blaze  of 
the  Summer  sun,  the  poppies  had  spread 
their  brilliant  pageantry.  In  all  the  village 
there  had  been  no  such  poppies  as  grew  in 
Evelina's  garden.  Now  they  were  dead  and 
only  the  overgrown  stubble  was  left. 

"  Dust  to  dust,  earth  to  earth,  and  ashes  to 
ashes."  The  solemn  words  of  the  burial 
service  were  chanted  in  her  consciousness  as 
she  lifted  the  vial  high  and  emptied  it.  She 
held  it  steadily  until  the  last  drop  was  drained 
from  it.  The  poppies  had  given  it  and  to  the 
poppies  she  had  returned  it.  She  put  the 
cork  into  the  empty  vial  and  flung  it  far  away 
from  her,  then  turned  back  to  the  house. 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels  upon  the  road. 


Ube  pearls 


37 


Miss  Evelina  hastened  her  steps,  but  the  dense 
undergrowth  made  walking  difficult.  Praying 
that  she  might  not  be  seen,  she  turned  her 
head. 

Anthony  Dexter,  in  the  doctor's  carriage, 
was  travelling  at  a  leisurely  pace.  As  he 
passed  the  old  house,  he  glanced  at  it  mechan 
ically,  from  sheer  force  of  habit.  Long  ago, 
it  had  ceased  to  have  any  definite  meaning 
for  him.  Once  he  had  even  stripped  every 
white  rose  from  the  neglected  bush  at  the  gate, 
to  take  to  his  wife,  who,  that  day,  for  the  first 
time,  had  held  their  son  in  her  arms. 

Motionless  in  the  wreck  of  the  garden,  a 
veiled  figure  stood  with  averted  face.  Doctor 
Dexter  looked  keenly  for  an  instant  in  the  fast 
gathering  twilight,  then  whipped  up  his  horse, 
and  was  swiftly  out  of  sight.  Against  his 
better  judgment,  he  was  shaken  in  mind  and 
body.  Could  he  have  seen  a  ghost?  Non 
sense!  He  was  tired,  he  had  overworked,  he 
had  had  an  hallucination.  His  cool,  calm, 
professional  sense  fought  with  the  insistent 
idea.  It  was  well  that  Ralph  was  coming  to 
relieve  his  old  father  of  a  part  of  his  burden. 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Evelina,  her  frail  body 
quivering  as  though  under  the  lash,  crept  back 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sim 


Ube 


into  the  house.  With  the  sure  intuition  of  a 
woman,  she  knew  who  had  driven  by  in  the 
first  darkness.  That  he  should  dare!  That 
he  should  actually  trespass  upon  her  road; 
take  the  insolent  liberty  of  looking  at  her 
house ! 

"A  pretty  young  wife,"  Miss  Hitty  had 
said.  Yes,  doubtless  a  pretty  one.  Anthony 
Dexter  delighted  in  the  beauty  of  a  woman  in 
the  same  impersonal  way  that  another  man 
would  regard  a  picture.  And  a  son.  A 
straight,  tall  young  fellow,  doubtless,  with 
eyes  like  his  father's — eyes  that  a  woman 
would  trust,  not  dreaming  of  the  false  heart 
and  craven  soul.  Why  had  she  been  brought 
here  to  suffer  this  last  insult,  this  last  humili 
ation?  Weakly,  as  many  a  woman  before 
her,  Miss  Evelina  groped  in  the  maze  of  Life, 
searching  for  some  clue  to  its  blind  mystery. 

Was  it  possible  that  she  had  not  suffered 
enough?  If  five-and-twenty  years  of  sodden 
misery  were  not  sufficient  for  one  who  had  done 
no  wrong,  what  punishment  would  be  meted 
out  to  a  sinner  by  a  God  who  was  always  kind? 
Miss  Evelina's  lips  curled  scornfully.  She 
had  taken  what  he  should  have  borne — 
Anthony  Dexter  had  gone  scot  free. 


pearls  39 


"The  man  sins  and  the  woman  pays." 
The  cynical  saying,  which,  after  all,  is  not 
wholly  untrue,  took  shape  in  her  thought  and 
said  itself — aloud.  Yet  it  was  not  altogether 
impossible  that  he  might  yet  be  made  to  pay — 
could  be — 

Her  cheeks  burned  and  her  hands  closed 
tightly.  What  if  she  were  the  chosen  instru 
ment  ?  What  if  she  had  been  sent  here, 
after  all  the  dead,  miserable  years,  for  some 
purpose  which  hitherto  she  had  not  guessed? 

What  if  she,  herself,  with  her  veiled  face, 
were  to  be  the  tardy  avenger  of  her  own 
wrong?  Her  soul  stirred  in  its  despair  as  the 
dead  might  stir  in  the  winding  sheet.  Out 
of  her  sodden  grief,  could  she  ever  emerge — 
alive? 

"The  fire  was  kind,"  said  Miss  Evelina,  in 
a  whisper.  "It  showed  me  the  truth.  The 
fire  was  kind  and  God  is  kind.  He  has  brought 
me  here  to  pay  my  debt — in  full." 

She  began  to  consider  what  she  might  do 
that  would  hurt  Anthony  Dexter  and  make 
him  suffer  as  she  had  suffered  for  half  a  life 
time.  If  he  had  forgotten,  she  would  make 
him  remember — ah,  yes,  he  must  remember 
before  he  could  be  hurt.  But  what  could  she 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


do?    What  had  he  given  her  aside  from  the 
pearls 

misery  that  she  hungered  to  give  back  to  him? 

The  pearls!  Miss  Evelina  lighted  her  candle 
and  hurried  upstairs. 

In  her  dower  chest,  beneath  the  piles  of 
heavy,  yellowed  linen,  was  a  small  jewel  case. 
She  knelt  before  the  chest,  gasping,  and  thrust 
her  questioning  fingers  down  through  the 
linen  to  the  solid  oak.  With  a  little  cry,  she 
rose  to  her  feet,  the  jewel  case  in  her  hand. 

The  purple  velvet  was  crushed,  the  satin 
was  yellowed,  but  the  string  of  pearls  was 
there — yellowed,  too,  by  the  slow  passage  of 
the  years.  One  or  two  of  them  were  black. 
A  slip  of  paper  fluttered  out  as  she  opened  the 
case,  and  she  caught  it  as  it  fell.  The  paper 
was  yellow  and  brittle  and  the  ink  had  faded, 
but  the  words  were  still  there,  written  in 
Anthony  Dexter's  clear,  bold  hand:  "First 
from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and  then  from  the 
depths  of  my  love." 

"  Depths!"  muttered  Miss  Evelina,  from 
between  her  clenched  teeth. 

Once  the  necklace  had  been  beautiful — a 
single  strand  of  large,  perfectly  matched 
pearls.  The  gold  of  the  clasp  was  dull,  but 
the  diamond  gleamed  like  the  eye  of  some 


ZCbe  pearls  4r 


evil  thing.  She  wound  the  necklace  twice 
about  her  wrist,  then  shuddered,  for  it  was 
cold  and  smooth  and  sinuous,  like  a  snake. 

She  coiled  the  discoloured  necklace  carefully 
upon  its  yellowed  satin  bed,  laid  the  folded 
slip  of  paper  over  it,  and  closed  it  with  a  snap. 
To-morrow — no,  this  very  night,  Anthony 
Dexter  should  have  the  pearls,  that  had 
come  first  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and 
then  from  the  depths  of  his  love. 

No  hand  but  hers  should  give  them  back, 
for  she  saw  it  written  in  the  scheme  of 
vengeance  that  she  herself  should,  mutely, 
make  him  pay.  She  felt  a  new  strength  of 
body  and  a  fresh  clearness  of  mind  as,  with 
grim  patience,  she  set  herself  to  wait. 

The  clocks  in  the  house  were  all  still.  Miss 
Evelina's  watch  had  long  ago  been  sold. 
There  was  no  town  clock  in  the  village,  but 
the  train  upon  which  she  had  come  was  due 
shortly  after  midnight.  She  knew  every 
step  of  the  way  by  dark  as  well  as  by  daylight, 
but  the  night  was  clear  and  there  would  be 
the  light  of  the  dying  moon. 

Her  own  clouded  skies  were  clearing.  Dimly 
she  began  to  perceive  herself  as  a  part  of  things, 
not  set  aside  helplessly  to  suffer  eternally, 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


t»eatl0 


but  in  some  sort  of  relation  to  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

On  the  Sunday  before  the  catastrophe,  Miss 
Evelina  had  been  to  church,  and  even  yet, 
she  remembered  fragments  of  the  sermon. 
"God  often  uses  people  to  carry  out  His  plans," 
the  minister  had  said.  At  the  time,  it  had 
not  particularly  impressed  her,  and  she  had 
never  gone  to  church  again.  If  she  had  listened 
further,  she  might  have  heard  the  minister 
say  that  the  devil  was  wont  to  do  the  same 
thing. 

Minute  by  minute,  the  hours  passed.  Miss 
Evelina's  heart  was  beating  painfully,  but, 
all  unknowingly,  she  had  entered  upon  a 
new  phase.  She  had  turned  in  the  winding 
sheet  of  her  own  weaving,  and  her  hands  were 
clutching  at  the  binding  fabric. 

At  last,  the  train  came  in.  It  did  not  stop, 
but  thundered  through  the  sleeping  village, 
shrieking  as  it  went.  The  sound  died  into  a 
distant  rumble,  then  merged  into  the  still 
ness  of  the  night.  Miss  Evelina  rose  from  her 
chair,  put  on  her  wraps,  slipped  the  jewel  case 
into  her  bag,  and  went  out,  closely  veiled. 

The  light  of  the  waning  moon  was  dim  and, 
veiled  as  she  was,  she  felt  rather  than  saw 


ZTbe  pearls 


43 


the  way.  Steadfastly,  she  went  down  the 
steep  road,  avoiding  the  sidewalk,  for  she 
remembered  that  Miss  Mehitable's  ears  were 
keen.  Past  the  crossroads,  to  the  right,  down 
into  the  village,  across  the  tracks,  then  sharply 
to  the  left — the  way  was  the  same,  but  the 
wayfarer  was  sadly  changed. 

She  went  unemotionally,  seeing  herself  a 
divinely  appointed  instrument  of  vengeance. 
Something  outside  her  obsession  had  its  clutch 
upon  her  also,  but  it  was  new,  and  she  did  not 
guess  that  it  was  fully  as  hideous. 

Doctor  Dexter's  house  was  near  the  corner 
on  a  shaded  street.  At  the  gate,  Miss  Evelina 
paused  and,  with  her  veil  lifted,  carefully 
scrutinised  the  house  for  a  possible  light. 
She  feared  that  some  one  might  be  stirring, 
late  as  it  was,  but  the  old  housekeeper  always 
went  to  bed  promptly  at  nine,  and  on  this 
particular  night,  Anthony  Dexter  had  .gone  to 
his  room  at  ten,  making  sleep  sure  by  a  drug. 

With  hushed  steps,  Miss  Evelina  went 
furtively  up  to  the  house  on  the  bare  earth 
beside  the  brick  pavement.  She  was  in  a 
panic  of  fear,  but  something  beyond  her  con 
trol  urged  her  on.  Reaching  the  steps,  she 
hesitated,  baffled  for  the  moment,  then  sank 


Ube 
pearls 


44 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


TEbe 
pearls 


to  her  knees.  Slowly  she  crept  to  the  thresh 
old,  placed  the  jewel  case  so  that  it  would  fall 
inward  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  started 
back.  Instinct  bade  her  hurry,  but  reason 
made  her  cautious.  She  forced  herself  to 
walk  slowly  and  to  muffle  the  latch  of  the  gate 
with  her  skirts  as  she  had  done  when  she 
came  in. 

It  seemed  an  hour  before  she  crossed  the 
tracks  again,  at  the  deserted  point  she  had 
chosen,  but,  in  reality,  it  was  only  a  few  minutes. 
At  last  she  reached  home,  utterly  exhausted 
by  the  strain  she  had  put  upon  herself.  She 
had  seen  no  one,  heard  no  footstep  save  her 
own;  she  had  gone  and  returned  as  mys 
teriously  as  the  night  itself. 

When  she  slept,  she  dreamed  of  the  poppy 
bed  on  the  western  slope  of  the  garden.  It 
was  twilight,  and  she  stood  there  with  a  vial 
of  laudanum  in  one  hand  and  a  necklace  of 
discoloured  pearls  in  the  other.  She  poured 
the  laudanum  upon  the  earth  and  a  great 
black  poppy  with  a  deadly  fragrance  sprang 
up  at  her  feet.  Then  Anthony  Dexter  drove 
up  in  a  carriage  and  took  the  pearls  away 
from  her.  She  could  not  see  him  clearly, 
because  his  face  was  veiled,  like  her  own. 


pearls  45 


The  odour  of  the  black  poppy  made  her  faint 
and  she  went  into  the  house  to  escape  from  it, 
but  the  scent  of  it  clung  to  her  garments  and 
hands  and  could  not  be  washed  away. 


46 


"tfrom  tbe 
Bcptbs  of 
Ibis  love" 


IV 

"  from  tbe  2)cptb0  of  1bie  %o\>e  " 

AT  seven  o'clock,  precisely,  Anthony  Dex- 
ter's  old  housekeeper  rang  the  rising 
bell.  Drowsy  with  the  soporific  he  had  taken, 
the  doctor  did  not  at  once  respond  to  the 
summons.  In  fact,  the  breakfast  bell  had 
rung  before  he  was  fully  awake. 

He  dressed  leisurely,  and  was  haunted  by 
a  vague  feeling  that  something  unpleasant 
had  happened.  At  length  he  remembered 
that  just  before  dusk,  in  the  garden  of  Evelina 
Grey's  old  house,  he  had  seen  a  ghost — a 
ghost  who  confronted  him  mutely  with  a 
thing  he  had  long  since  forgotten. 

"It  was  subjective,  purely,"  mused  Anthony 
Dexter.  "  I  have  been  working  too  hard/' 
His  reason  was  fully  satisfied  with  the  plausible 
explanation,  but  he  was  not  a  man  who  was 
likely  to  have  an  hallucination  of  any  sort. 


ffrom  tbe  2>eptbs  of  Ibis  %ot>e " 


47 


He  was  strong  and  straight  of  body,  finely 
muscular,  and  did  not  look  over  forty,  though 
it  was  more  than  eight  years  ago  that  he  had 
reached  the  fortieth  milestone.  His  hair  was 
thinning  a  little  at  the  temples  and  the  rest 
of  it  was  touched  generously  with  grey.  His 
features  were  regular  and  his  skin  clear.  A 
full  beard,  closely  cropped,  hid  the  weakness 
of  his  chin,  but  did  not  entirely  conceal  those 
fine  lines  about  the  mouth  which  mean  cruelty. 

Someway,  in  looking  at  him,  one  got  the 
impression  of  a  machine,  well-nigh  perfect  of 
its  kind.  His  dark  eyes  were  sharp  and  pene 
trating.  Once  they  had  been  sympathetic,  but 
he  had  outgrown  that.  His  hands  were  large, 
white,  and  well-kept,  his  fingers  knotted,  and 
blunt  at  the  tips.  He  had,  pre-eminently,  the 
hand  of  the  surgeon,  capable  of  swiftness  and 
strength,  and  yet  of  delicacy.  It  was  not  a 
hand  that  would  tremble  easily;  it  was  powerful 
and,  in  a  way,  brutal. 

He  was  thoroughly  self-satisfied,  as  well  he 
might  be,  for  the  entire  countryside  admitted 
his  skill,  and  even  in  the  operating  rooms  of 
the  hospitals  in  the  city  not  far  distant,  Doctor 
Dexter's  name  was  well  known.  He  had 
thought  seriously,  at  times,  of  seeking  a  wider 


"jprom  tbe 
©cptba  of 


48 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"ffrom  tbe 
Depths  of 
t>is  love" 


field,  but  he  liked  the  country  and  the  open  air, 
and  his  practice  would  give  Ralph  the  oppor 
tunity  he  needed.  At  his  father's  death,  the 
young  physician  would  fall  heir  to  a  practice 
which  had  taken  many  years  of  hard  work 
to  build  up. 

At  the  thought  of  Ralph,  the  man's  face 
softened  a  trifle  and  his  keen  eyes  became  a 
little  less  keen.  The  boy's  picture  was  before 
him  upon  his  chiffonier.  Ralph  was  twenty- 
three  now  and  would  finish  in  a  few  weeks  at 
a  famous  medical  school — Doctor  Dexter's  own 
alma  mater.  He  had  not  been  at  home  since 
he  entered  the  school,  having  undertaken  to  do 
in  three  years  the  work  which  usually  required 
four. 

He  wrote  frequently,  however,  and  Doctor 
Dexter  invariably  went  to  the  post-office  him 
self  on  the  days  Ralph's  letters  were  expected. 
He  had  the  entire  correspondence  on  file  and 
whiled  away  many  a  lonely  evening  by  reading 
and  re-reading  the  breezy  epistles.  The  last 
one  was  in  his  pocket  now. 

"  To  think,  Father,"  Ralph  had  written,  "  in 
three  weeks  more  or  less,  I  shall  be  at  home 
with  my  sheepskin  and  a  fine  new  shingle  with 
'  Dr.  Ralph  Dexter '  painted  on  it,  all  ready  to 


ffrom  tbe  Beptfos  of  Ibis  SLove  " 


49 


hang  up  on  the  front  of  the  house  beside  yours. 
I  '11  be  glad  to  get  out  of  the  grind  for  a  while, 
I  can  tell  you  that.  I  've  worked  as  His  Satanic 
Majesty  undoubtedly  does  when  he  receives 
word  that  a  fresh  batch  of  Mormons  has  hit  the 
trail  for  the  good-intentions  pavement.  Decen- 
sus  facilis  Averni.  That  's  about  all  the  Latin 
I  've  got  left. 

"At  first,  I  suppose,  there  won't  be  much 
for  me  to  do.  I  '11  have  to  win  the  confidence  of 
the  community  by  listening  to  the  old  ladies' 
symptoms  three  or  four  hours  a  day,  regularly. 
Finally,  they  '11  let  me  vaccinate  the  kids  and 
the  rest  will  be  pitifully  easy.  Kids  always  like 
me,  for  some  occult  reason,  and  if  the  children 
cry  for  me,  it  won't  be  long  till  I  've  got  your 
whole  blooming  job  away  from  you.  Never 
mind,  though,  dad — I  '11  be  generous  and 
whack  up,  as  you  've  always  done  with  me." 

Remembering  the  boyishness  of  it,  Anthony 
Dexter  smiled  a  little  and  took  another  satis 
fying  look  at  the  pictured  face  before  him. 
Ralph's  eyes  were  as  his  father's  had  been — 
frank  and  friendly  and  clear,  with  no  hint  of 
suspicion.  His  chin  was  firm  and  his  mouth 
determined,  but  the  corners  of  it  turned  up 
decidedly,  and  the  upper  lip  was  short.  The 


**3f  rom  tbe 
JDeptba  of 
Die  fcove" 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


**Jfrom  tbc 
S>eptbs  of 
"65(3  %ove" 


unprejudiced  observer  would  have  seen  merely 
an  honest,  intelligent,  manly  young  fellow, 
who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  good  company. 
Anthony  Dexter  saw  all  this — and  a  great  deal 
more. 

It  was  his  pride  that  he  was  unemotional. 
By  rigid  self-discipline,  he  had  wholly  mastered 
himself.  His  detachment  from  his  kind  was  at 
first  spasmodic,  then  exceptionally  complete. 
Excepting  Ralph,  his  relation  to  the  world  was 
that  of  an  unimpassioned  critic.  He  was  so 
sure  of  his  own  ground  that  he  thought  he  con 
sidered  Ralph  impersonally,  also. 

Over  a  nature  which,  at  the  beginning,  was 
warmly  human,  Doctor  Dexter  had  laid  this 
glacial  mask.  He  did  what  he  had  to  do  with 
neatness  and  dispatch.  If  an  operation  was 
necessary,  he  said  so  at  once,  not  troubling 
himself  to  approach  the  subject  gradually.  If 
there  was  doubt  as  to  the  outcome,  he  would 
cheerfully  advise  the  patient  to  make  a  will 
first,  but  there  was  seldom  doubt,  for  those 
white,  blunt  fingers  were  very  sure.  He  be 
lieved  in  the  clean-cut,  sudden  stroke,  and 
conducted  his  life  upon  that  basis. 

Without  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash, 
Anthony  Dexter  could  tell  a  man  that  within 


JFrom  tbe  Deptbs  of  Ibis  Xove " 


an  hour  his  wife  would  be  dead.  He  could 
predict  the  death  of  a  child,  almost  to  the 
minute,  without  a  change  in  his  mask-like  ex 
pression,  and  feel  a  faint  throb  of  professional 
pride  when  his  prediction  was  precisely  ful 
filled.  The  people  feared  him,  respected  him, 
and  admired  his  skill,  but  no  one  loved  him 
except  his  son. 

Among  all  his  acquaintances,  there  was  none 
who  called  him  friend  except  Austin  Thorpe, 
the  old  minister  who  had  but  lately  come  to 
town.  This,  in  itself,  was  no  distinction,  for 
Thorpe  was  the  friend  of  every  man,  woman, 
child,  and  animal  in  the  village.  No  two  men 
could  have  been  more  unlike,  but  friendship, 
like  love,  is  often  a  matter  of  chemical  affinity, 
wherein  opposites  rush  together  in  obedience 
to  a  hidden  law. 

The  broadly  human  creed  of  the  minister 
included  every  living  thing,  and  the  man  him 
self  interested  Doctor  Dexter  in  much  the  same 
way  that  a  new  slide  for  his  microscope  might 
interest  him.  They  exchanged  visits  frequently 
when  the  duties  of  both  permitted,  and  the 
Doctor  reflected  that,  when  Ralph  came, 
Thorpe  would  be  lonely. 

The  Dexter  house  was  an  old  one  but  it  had 


"jf  torn  tbe 

Dcptbs  of 
Ibis  love" 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"afrom  tbe 
SJeptbs  of 
•fcts  love" 


been  kept  in  good  repair.  From  time  to  time, 
wings  had  been  added  to  the  original  structure, 
until  now  it  sprawled  lazily  in  every  direction. 
One  wing,  at  the  right  of  the  house,  contained 
the  Doctor's  medical  library,  office,  reception 
room,  and  laboratory.  Doors  were  arranged 
in  metropolitan  fashion,  so  that  patients  might 
go  out  of  the  office  without  meeting  any  one. 
The  laboratory,  at  the  back  of  the  wing,  was 
well  fitted  with  modern  appliances  for  original 
research,  and  had,  too,  its  own  outside  door. 

When  Ralph  came  home,  the  other  wing,  at 
the  left  of  the  house,  was  to  be  arranged  in  like 
manner  for  him  if  he  so  desired.  Doctor  Dexter 
had  some  rough  drawings  under  consideration, 
but  wanted  Ralph  to  order  the  plans  in  accord 
ance  with  his  own  ideas. 

The  breakfast  bell  rang  again,  and  Doctor 
Dexter  went  downstairs.  The  servant  met 
him  in  the  hall.  "  Breakfast  is  waiting,  sir," 
she  said. 

"  All  right,"  returned  the  Doctor,  absently. 
"  I  '11  be  there  in  a  moment." 

He  opened  the  door  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air, 
and  immediately  perceived  the  small,  purple 
velvet  box  at  his  feet.  He  picked  it  up,  won- 
deringly,  and  opened  it. 


ffrom  tbe  H)eptbs  of  HM9  3Lo\?e 


53 


Inside  were  the  discoloured  pearls  on  their 
bed  of  yellowed  satin,  and  the  ivory-tinted 
slip  of  paper  on  which  he  had  written,  so  long 
ago,  in  his  clear,  boyish  hand:  "  First  from 
the  depths  of  the  sea,  and  then  from  the 
depths  of  my  love." 

Being  unemotional,  he  experienced  nothing 
at  first,  save  natural  surprise.  He  stood  there, 
staring  into  vacancy,  idly  fingering  the  pearls. 
By  some  evil  magic  of  the  moment,  the  hour 
seemed  set  back  a  full  quarter  of  a  century.  As 
though  it  were  yesterday,  he  saw  Evelina  before 
him. 

She  had  been  a  girl  of  extraordinary  beauty 
and  charm.  He  had  travelled  far  and  seen 
many,  but  there  had  been  none  like  Evelina. 
How  he  had  loved  her,  in  those  dead  yester 
days,  and  how  she  had  loved  him !  The  poign 
ant  sweetness  of  it  came  back,  changed  by 
some  fatal  alchemy  into  bitterness. 

Anthony  Dexter  had  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  recognise  cowardice  when  he  saw  it, 
even  in  himself.  His  books  had  taught  him 
that  the  mind  could  hold  but  one  thought  at  a 
time,  and,  persistently,  he  had  displaced  the 
unpleasant  ones  which  constantly  strove  for 
the  right  of  possession. 


"jfrom  tfce 
EJeptbs  of 
Ibis  Xove" 


54 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"ff  rom  tbe 
2>eptbs  of 
Dte  love" 


Hard  work  and  new  love  and  daily  wearying 
of  the  body  to  the  point  of  exhaustion  had 
banished  those  phantoms  of  earlier  years,  save 
in  his  dreams.  At  night,  the  soul  claims  its 
own — its  right  to  suffer  for  its  secret  sins,  its 
shirking,  its  betrayals. 

It  is  not  pleasant  for  a  man  to  be  branded, 
in  his  own  consciousness,  a  coward.  Refusal  to 
admit  it  by  day  does  not  change  the  hour  of  the 
night  when  life  is  at  its  lowest  ebb,  and,  sleep 
less,  man  faces  himself  as  he  is. 

The  necklace  slipped  snakily  over  his  hand — 
one  of  those  white,  firm  hands  which  could 
guide  the  knife  so  well — and  Anthony  Dexter 
shuddered.  He  flung  the  box  far  from  him 
into  the  shrubbery,  went  back  into  the  house, 
and  slammed  the  door. 

He  sat  down  at  the  table,  but  could  not  eat. 
The  Past  had  come  from  its  grave,  veiled,  like 
the  ghost  in  the  garden  that  he  had  seen 
yesterday. 

It  was  not  an  hallucination,  then.  Only  one 
person  in  the  world  could  have  laid  those  dis 
coloured  pearls  at  his  door  in  the  dead  of  night. 
The  black  figure  in  the  garden,  with  the  chiffon 
fluttering  about  its  head,  was  Evelina  Grey — 
or  what  was  left  of  her. 


ffrom  tbe  H>eptb8  of  Ibis  %cn>e  " 


55 


"  Why?"  he  questioned  uneasily  of  himself. 
"  Why?"  He  had  repeatedly  told  himself  that 
any  other  man,  in  his  position,  would  do  as  he 
had  done,  yet  it  was  as  though  some  one  had 
slipped  a  stiletto  under  his  armour  and  found 
a  vulnerable  spot. 

Before  his  mental  vision  hovered  two  women. 
One  was  a  girl  of  twenty,  laughing,  exquisitely 
lovely.  The  other  was  a  bent  and  broken 
woman  in  black,  whose  veil  concealed  the 
dreadful  hideousness  of  her  face. 

"  Pshaw!"  grumbled  Doctor  Dexter,  aloud. 
"  I  've  overworked,  that 's  all." 

He  determined  to  vanquish  the  spectre  that 
had  reared  itself  before  him,  not  perceiving 
that  Remorse  incarnate,  in  the  shape  of 
Evelina,  had  come  back  to  haunt  him  until  his 
dying  day. 


"jf  rom  tbe 
IDcptbs  of 
Ibis  SLove" 


Braminta 


Bramlnta 

ARAMINTA,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  -go 
and  get  your  sewing  and  do  your  stent." 

11  Yes,  Aunt  Hitty,"  answered  the  girl, 
obediently. 

Each  year,  Araminta  made  a  new  patchwork 
quilt.  Seven  were  neatly  folded  and  put  away 
in  an  old  trunk  in  the  attic.  The  eighth  was 
progressing  well,  but  the  young  seamstress  was 
becoming  sated  with  quilts.  She  had  never 
been  to  school,  but  Miss  Mehitable  had  taught 
her  all  she  knew.  Unkind  critics  might  have 
intimated  that  Araminta  had  not  been  taught 
much,  but  she  could  sew  nicely,  keep  house 
neatly,  and  write  a  stilted  letter  in  a  queer, 
old-fashioned  hand  almost  exactly  like  Miss 
Mehitable's. 

That  valiant  dame  saw  no  practical  use  in 
further  knowledge.  She  was  concerned  with 


Braminta 


57 


no  books  except  the  Bible  and  the  ancient 
ledger  in  which,  with  painstaking  exactness, 
she  kept  her  household  accounts.  She  deemed 
it  wise,  moreover,  that  Araminta  should  not 
know  too  much. 

From  a  drawer  in  the  high,  black-walnut 
bureau  in  the  upper  hall,  Araminta  drew  forth 
an  assortment  of  red,  white,  and  blue  cotton 
squares  and  diamonds.  This  was  to  be  a 
"  patriotic"  quilt,  made  after  a  famous  old 
pattern  which  Miss  Hitty  had  selfishly  refused 
to  give  to  any  one  else,  though  she  had  often 
been  asked  for  it  by  contemporary  ladies  of 
similar  interests. 

The  younger  generation  was  inclined  to 
scout  at  quilt-making,  and  needlework  heresy 
was  rampant  in  the  neighbourhood.  Tatting, 
crocheting,  and  knitting  were  on  the  wane. 
An  "  advanced"  woman  who  had  once  spent 
a  Summer  in  the  village  had  spread  abroad  the 
delights  of  Battenberg  and  raised  embroidery. 
At  all  of  these,  Miss  Hitty  sniffed  contemptu 
ously. 

"  Quilt  makin'  was  good  enough  for  their 
mas  and  their  grandmas,"  she  said  scornfully, 
"  and  I  reckon  it  's  good  enough  for  anybody 
else.  I  've  no  patience  with  such  things." 


Bramfnta 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Uramfnta  Araminta  knew  that.  She  had  never  for 
gotten  the  vial  of  wrath  which  broke  upon  her 
luckless  head  the  day  she  had  timorously  sug 
gested  making  lace  as  a  pleasing  change  from 
unending  quilts. 

She  sat  now,  in  a  low  rocker  by  the  window, 
with  one  foot  upon  a  wobbly  stool.  A  marvel 
lous  cover,  of  Aunt  Hitty's  making,  which 
dated  back  to  her  frivolous  and  girlish  days, 
was  underneath.  Nobody  ever  saw  it,  how 
ever,  and  the  gaudy  woollen  roses  blushed  un 
seen.  A  white  linen  cover,  severely  plain,  was 
put  upon  the  footstool  every  Wednesday  and 
every  Saturday,  year  in  and  year  out. 

Unlike  most  good  housewives,  Miss  Mehitable 
used  her  parlour  every  day  in  the  week.  She 
was  obliged  to,  in  fact,  for  it  was  the  only  room 
in  her  house,  except  Mr.  Thorpe's,  which 
commanded  an  unobstructed  view  of  the  cross 
roads.  A  cover  of  brown  denim  protected  the 
carpet,  and  the  chairs  were  shrouded  in  shape 
less  habiliments  of  cambric  and  calico.  For  the 
rest,  however,  the  room  was  mildly  cheerful, 
and  had  a  habitable  look  which  was  distinctly 
uncommon  in  village  parlours. 

There  was  a  fireplace,  which  was  dusted  and 
scrubbed  at  intervals,  but  never,  under  any 


Hramtnta 


59 


circumstances,  profaned  by  a  fire.  It  was  cur 
tained  by  a  gay  remnant  of  figured  plush, 
however,  so  nobody  missed  the  fire.  White  and 
gold  china  vases  stood  on  the  mantel,  and  a 
little  china  dog,  who  would  never  have  dared 
to  bark  had  he  been  alive,  so  chaste  and  hum 
ble  of  countenance  was  he,  sat  forever  between 
the  two  vases,  keeping  faithful  guard  over  Miss 
Mehitable's  treasures. 

The  silver  coffin  plates  of  the  Smiths,  mat 
ted  with  black,  and  deeply  framed,  occupied 
the  place  of  honour  over  the  mantel.  On  the 
marble-topped  table  in  the  exact  centre  of  the 
room  was  a  basket  of  wax  flowers  and  fruit, 
covered  by  a  bell-shaped  glass  shade.  Miss 
Hitty's  album  and  her  Bible  were  placed  near 
it  with  mathematical  precision.  On  the  oppo 
site  wall  was  a  hair  wreath,  made  from  the 
shorn  locks  of  departed  Smiths  by  Miss  Hitty's 
mother.  The  proud  possessor  felt  a  covert 
reproach  in  the  fact  that  she  herself  was  un 
able  to  make  hair  wreaths.  It  was  a  talent  for 
which  she  had  great  admiration. 

Araminta  rocked  back  and  forth  in  her  low 
chair  by  the  window.  She  hummed  a  bit  of 
"  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye"  to  herself,  for  hymns 
were  the  only  songs  she  knew.  She  could  play 


Bramfnta 


6o 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Snn 


Hraminta  some  of  them,  with  one  hand,  on  the  melodeon 
in  the  corner,  but  she  dared  not  touch  the 
yellow  keys  of  the  venerated  instrument  ex 
cept  when  Miss  Hitty  was  out. 

The  sunlight  shone  lovingly  on  Araminta's 
brown  hair,  tightly  combed  back,  braided,  and 
pinned  up,  but  rippling  riotously,  none  the 
less.  Her  deep,  thoughtful  eyes  were  grey  and 
her  nose  turned  up  coquettishly.  To  a  guardian 
of  greater  penetration,  Araminta's  mouth 
would  have  given  deep  concern.  It  was  a 
demure,  rosy  mouth,  warning  and  tantalising 
by  turns.  Mischievous  little  dimples  lurked 
in  the  corners  of  it,  and  even  Aunt  Hitty  was 
not  proof  against  the  magic  of  Araminta's 
smile.  The  girl's  face  had  the  creamy  softness 
of  a  white  rose  petal,  but  her  cheeks  bloomed 
with  the  flush  of  health  and  she  had  a  most  dis 
concerting  trick  of  blushing.  With  Spartan 
thoroughness,  Miss  Mehitable  constantly  strove 
to  cure  Araminta  of  this  distressing  fault,  but 
as  yet  she  had  not  succeeded. 

The  pretty  child  had  grown  into  an  ex 
quisitely  lovely  woman,  to  her  stern  guardian's 
secret  uneasiness.  "  It 's  goin'  to  be  harder  to 
keep  Minty  right  than  't  would  be  if  she  was 
plain,"  mused  Miss  Hitty,  "but  I  guess  I  '11 


Hramfnta 


61 


be  given  strength  to  do  it.  I  've  done  well  by 
her  so  far." 

"  In  the  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye,"  sang  Ara- 
minta,  in  a  piping,  girlish  soprano,  "we  shall 
meet  on  that  beautiful  shore." 

"  Maybe  wo  shall  and  maybe  we  sha'n't," 
said  Miss  Hitty,  grimly.  "  Some  folks  '11  never 
see  the  beautiful  shore.  They  '11  go  to  the  bad 
place." 

Araminta  lifted  her  great,  grey,  questioning 
eyes.  "Why?"  she  asked,  simply. 

"  Because  they  've  been  bad,"  answered 
Miss  Hitty,  defiantly. 

"But  if  they  didn't  know  any  better?" 
queried  Araminta,  threading  her  needle. 
"  Would  they  go  to  the  bad  place  just  because 
they  did  n't  know?" 

Miss  Mehitable  squirmed  in  her  chair,  for 
never  before  had  Araminta  spoken  thus. 
"There's  no  excuse  for  their  not  knowin'," 
she  said,  sharply. 

"Perhaps  not,"  sighed  Araminta,  "but  it 
seems  dreadful  to  think  of  people  being  burned 
up  just  for  ignorance.  Do  you  think  I  '11  be 
burned  up,  Aunt  Hitty  ?"  she  continued, 
anxiously.  "  There  's  so  many  things  I  don't 
know!" 


Hraminta 


62 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Braminta 


Miss  Mehitable  set  herself  firmly  to  her  task. 
"  Araminta  Lee,"  she  said,  harshly,  "  don't  get 
to  bothering  about  what  you  don't  know. 
That  's  the  sure  way  to  perdition.  I  've  told 
you  time  and  time  again  what  's  right  for  you 
to  believe  and  what  's  right  for  you  to  do. 
You  walk  in  that  path  and  turn  neither  to 
the  right  nor  the  left,  and  you  won't  have  no 
trouble — here  or  anywheres  else." 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Hitty,"  said  the  girl,  dutifully. 
"It  must  be  awful  to  be  burned." 

Miss  Mehitable  looked  about  her  furtively, 
then  drew  her  chair  closer  to  Araminta's. 
"  That  brings  to  my  mind  something  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  you  about,  and  I  don't  know  but 
what  this  is  as  good  a  chance  as  any.  You 
know  where  I  told  you  to  go  the  other  day 
with  the  tray,  and  to  set  it  down  at  the  back 
door,  and  rap,  and  run  ?" 

"  Yes."  Araminta's  eyes  were  wide  open 
now.  She  had  wondered  much  at  her  mys 
terious  errand,  but  had  not  dared  to  ask 
questions. 

"Well,"  continued  Aunt  Hitty,  after  an 
aggravating  pause,  "  the  woman  that  lives  in 
that  house  has  been  burnt." 

Araminta  gasped.    "Oh,  Aunt  Hitty,  was 


Btaminta 


she  bad?  What  did  she  do  and  how  did  she  get 
burned  before  she  was  dead  ?" 

Miss  Mehitable  brushed  aside  the  question 
as  though  it  were  an  annoying  fly.  "I  don't 
want  it  talked  of,"  she  said,  severely.  *  *  Evelina 
Grey  was  a  friend  of  mine,  and  she  is  yet.  If 
there  's  anything  on  earth  I  despise,  it 's  a 
gossip.  People  who  have  n't  anything  better 
to  do  than  to  go  around  prying  into  other 
folks's  affairs  are  better  off  dead,  I  take  it.  My 
mother  never  permitted  me  to  gossip,  and  I  've 
held  true  to  her  teachinV  Aunt  Hitty 
smoothed  her  skirts  with  superior  virtue  and 
tied  a  knot  in  her  thread. 

"How  did  she  get  burned?"  asked  Araminta, 
eagerly. 

"Gossip,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  senten- 
tiously,  "does  a  lot  of  harm  and  makes  a  lot  of 
folks  miserable.  It  Js  a  good  thing  to  keep 
away  from,  and  if  I  ever  hear  of  your  gossiping 
about  anybody,  I  '11  shut  you  up  in  your  room 
for  two  weeks  and  keep  you  on  bread  and 
water." 

Araminta  trembled.  "  What  is  gossiping, 
Aunt  Hitty?"  she  asked  in  a  timid,  awe-struck 
tone. 

"  Talking  about  folks,"  explained  Miss  Hitty. 


Bramfnta 


64 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Bramfnta 


"  Tellin'  things  about  'em  they  would  n't  tell 
themselves/' 

It  occurred  to  Araminta  that  much  of  the 
conversation  at  the  crossroads  might  appro 
priately  be  classed  under  that  head,  but,  of 
course,  Aunt  Hitty  knew  what  she  was  talking 
about.  She  remembered  the  last  quilting  Aunt 
Hitty  had  given,  when  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society 
had  been  invited,  en  masse,  to  finish  off  the 
quilt  Araminta's  rebellious  fingers  had  just 
completed.  One  of  the  ladies  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  earlier  than  the  rest,  and 

"  I  don't  believe,"  thought  Araminta,  "  that 
Mrs.  Gardner  would  have  told  how  her  son  ran 
away  from  home,  nor  that  she  did  n't  dust  her 
bed  slats  except  at  house-cleaning  time,  nor 
that  they  ate  things  other  people  would  give  to 
the  pigs." 

"  I  expect  there  '11  be  a  lot  of  questions  asked 
about  Evelina,"  observed  Miss  Mehitable, 
breaking  in  rudely  upon  Araminta's  train  of 
thought,  "as  soon  's  folks  finds  out  she  's  come 
back  to  live  here,  and  that  she  has  to  wear  a 
veil  all  the  time,  even  when  she  does  n't  wear 
her  hat.  What  I  'm  telling  you  for  is  to  show 
you  what  happens  to  women  that  have  n't 
sense  enough  to  keep  away  from  men.  If 


Hraminta 


Evelina  'd  kept  away  from  Doctor  Dexter,  she 
would  n't  have  got  burnt/' 

"  Did  Doctor  Dexter  burn  her?"  asked 
Araminta,  breathlessly.  "  I  thought  it  was 
God." 

At  the  psychological  moment,  Doctor  Dexter 
drove  by,  bowing  to  Miss  Mehitable  as  he 
passed.  Araminta  had  observed  that  this 
particular  event  always  flustered  her  aunt. 

"  Maybe, it  was  God  and  maybe  it  was  Doctor 
Dexter,"  answered  Miss  Mehitable,  quickly. 
"  That 's  something  there  don't  nobody  know 
except  Evelina  and  Doctor  Dexter,  and  it 's 
not  for  me  to  ask  either  one  of  'em,  though  I 
don't  doubt  some  of  the  sewin'  society  '11  make 
an  errand  to  Evelina's  to  find  out.  I  've  got  to 
keep  'em  off  'n  her,  if  I  can,  and  that  's  a  big 
job  for  one  woman  to  tackle. 

"  Anyhow,  she  got  burnt  and  got  burnt 
awful,  and  it  was  at  his  house  that  it  happened. 
It  was  shameless,  the  way  Evelina  carried  on. 
Why,  if  you  '11  believe  me,  she  'd  actually  go 
to  his  house  when  there  wa'n't  no  need  of  it — 
nobody  sick,  nor  no  medicine  to  be  bought,  nor 
anything.  Some  said  they  was  goin'  to  be 
married." 

The  scorn  which  Miss  Mehitable  managed  to 


Hraminta 


66 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Hraminta 


throw  into  the  word  "married"  indicated  that 
the  state  was  the  crowning  ignominy  of  the 
race.  The  girl's  cheek  flamed  into  crimson,  for 
her  own  mother  had  been  married,  and  every 
body  knew  it.  Sometimes  the  deep  disgrace 
seemed  almost  too  much  for  Araminta  to 
endure. 

"That 's  what  comes  of  it,"  explained  Miss 
Hitty,  patiently,  as  a  teacher  might  point  to  a 
demonstration  clearly  made  out  on  a  black 
board  for  an  eager  class.  '  'If  she  'd  stayed  at 
home  as  a  girl  should  stay,  and  had  n't  gone  to 
Doctor  Dexter's,  she  would  n't  have  got  burnt. 
Anybody  can  see  that. 

"There  was  so  much  goin'  on  at  the  time  that 
I  sorter  lost  track  of  everything,  otherwise 
I  'd  have  known  more  about  it,  but  I  guess  I 
know  as  much  as  anybody  ever  knew.  Evelina 
was  to  Doctor  Dexter's — shameless  hussy  that 
she  was — and  she  got  burnt.  She  was  there  aH 
the  afternoon  and  they  took  her  to  the  hos 
pital  in  the  city  on  the  night  train  and  she 
stayed  there  until  she  was  well,  but  she  never 
came  back  here  until  just  now.  Her  mother 
went  with  her  to  take  care  of  her  and  before 
Evelina  came  out  of  the  hospital,  her  mother 
keeled  over  and  died.  Sarah  Grey  always  had 


Hraminta 


67 


a  weak  heart  and  a  weak  head  to  match  it.  If 
she  had  n't  have  had,  she  'd  have  brought  up 
Evelina  different. 

"Neither  of  'em  was  ever  in  the  house  again. 
Neither  one  ever  came  back,  even  for  their 
clothes.  They  had  plenty  of  money,  then,  and 
they  just  bought  new  ones.  When  the  word 
come  that  Evelina  was  burnt,  Sarah  Grey  just 
put  on  her  hat  and  locked  her  doors  and  run  up 
to  Doctor  Dexter's.  Nobody  ever  heard  from 
them  again  until  Jim  Gardner's  second  cousin 
on  his  father's  side  sent  a  paper  with  Sarah 
Grey's  obituary  in  it.  And  now,  after  twenty- 
five  years,  Evelina's  come  back. 

"  The  poor  soul  's  just  sittin'  there,  in  all  the 
dust  and  cobwebs.  When  I  get  time,  I  aim  to 
go  over  there  and  clean  up  the  house  for  her — 
't  ain't  decent  for  a  body  to  live  like  that.  I  '11 
take  you  with  me,  to  help  scrub,  and  what  I  'm 
telling  you  all  this  for  is  so  's  you  won't  ask 
any  questions,  nor  act  as  if  you  thought  it  was 
queer  for  a  woman  to  wear  a  white  veil  all  the 
time.  You  '11  have  to  act  as  if  nothing  was  out 
of  the  way  at  all,  and  not  look  at  her  any  more 
than  you  can  help.  Just  pretend  it 's  the  style 
to  wear  a  veil  pinned  to  your  hair  all  the  time, 
and  you  've  been  wearin'  one  right  along  and 


Hraminta 


68 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Braminta 


have  forgot  and  left  it  to  home.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Hitty." 

"  And  when  people  come  here  to  find  out 
about  it,  you  're  not  to  say  anything.  Leave  it 
all  to  me.  T  ain't  necessary  for  you  to  lie,  but 
you  can  keep  your  mouth  shut.  And  I  hope 
you  see  now  what  it  means  to  a  woman  to  walk 
straight  on  her  own  path  that  the  Lord  has  laid 
out  for  her,  and  to  let  men  alone.  They  're 
pizen,  every  one  of  'em." 

Nun-like,  Araminta  sat  in  her  chair  and 
sewed  steadily  at  her  dainty  seam,  but,  none 
the  less,  she  was  deeply  stirred  with  pity  for 
women  who  so  forgot  themselves — who  had 
not  Aunt  Hitty's  superior  wisdom.  At  the  end 
of  the  prayer  which  Miss  Mehitable  had  taught 
the  child,  and  which  the  woman  still  repeated 
in  her  nightly  devotions,  was  this  eloquent 
passage: 

"  And,  Oh  Lord,  keep  me  from  the  contam 
ination  of  marriage.  For  Thy  sake.  Amen." 

"  Araminta,"  said  Aunt  Hitty,  severely, 
"cover  up  your  foot!"  Modestly,  Araminta 
drew  down  her  skirt.  One  foot  was  on  the 
immaculate  footstool  and  her  ankle  was  ex 
posed  to  view — a  lovely  ankle,  in  spite  of  the 


Brammta 


broad-soled,  common-sense  shoes  which  she 
always  wore. 

"  How  often  have  I  told  you  to  keep  your 
ankles  covered  ?"  demanded  Miss  Mehitable. 
"  Suppose  the  minister  had  come  in  suddenly! 
Suppose — upon  my  word !  Speakin'  of  angels— 
if  there  ain't  the  minister  now!" 

The  Reverend  Austin  Thorpe  came  slowly  up 
the  brick-bordered  path,  his  head  bowed  in 
thought.  He  was  painfully  near-sighted,  but 
he  refused  to  wear  glasses.  On  the  doorstep  he 
paused  and  wiped  his  feet  upon  the  corn-husk 
mat  until  even  Miss  Mehitable,  beaming  at  him 
through  the  window,  thought  he  was  overdoing 
it.  Unconsciously,  she  took  credit  to  herself 
for  the  minister's  neatness. 

Stepping  carefully,  lest  he  profane  the  hall 
carpet  by  wandering  off  the  rug,  the  minister 
entered  the  parlour,  having  first  taken  off  his 
coat  and  hat  and  hung  them  upon  their  ap 
pointed  hooks  in  the  hall.  It  was  cold,  and  the 
cheery  warmth  of  the  room  beckoned  him  in. 
He  did  not  know  that  he  tried  Miss  Hitty  by 
trespassing,  so  to  speak,  upon  her  preserves. 
She  would  have  been  better  pleased  if  he 
remained  in  his  room  when  he  was  not  at 
the  table  or  out,  but,  to  do  him  justice,  the 


Braminta 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ta  reverend  gentleman  did  not  often  offend 
her  thus. 

Araminta,  blushing,  took  her  foot  from  the 
footstool  and  pulled  feverishly  at  her  skirts.  As 
Mr.  Thorpe  entered  the  room,  she  did  not  look 
up,  but  kept  her  eyes  modestly  upon  her  work. 

"  There  ain't  no  need  to  tear  out  the  gathers," 
Miss  Hitty  said,  in  a  warning  undertone,  re 
ferring  to  Araminta's  skirts.  "  Why,  Mr. 
Thorpe !  How  you  surprised  me !  Come  in  and 
set  a  spell,"  she  added,  grudgingly. 

Steering  well  away  from  the  centre-table 
with  its  highly  prized  ornament,  Thorpe  gained 
the  chair  in  which,  if  he  did  not  lean  against  the 
tidy,  he  was  permitted  to  sit.  He  held  himself 
bolt  upright  and  warmed  his  hands  at  the 
stove.  "It  is  good  to  be  out,"  he  said,  cheer 
fully,  "  and  good  to  come  in  again.  A  day  like 
this  makes  one  appreciate  the  blessing  of  a 
home." 

Miss  Hitty  watched  the  white-haired,  in 
offensive  old  man  with  the  keen  scrutiny  of  an 
eagle  guarding  its  nest.  He  did  not  lean  upon 
the  tidy,  nor  rest  his  elbows  upon  the  cro 
cheted  mats  which  protected  the  arms  of  the 
chair.  In  short,  he  conducted  himself  as  a  gen 
tleman  should  when  in  the  parlour  of  a  lady. 


Hraminta 


His  blue,  near-sighted  eyes  rested  approv 
ingly  upon  Araminta.  "  How  the  child  grows !" 
he  said,  with  a  friendly  smile  upon  his  kindly 
old  face.  "  Soon  we  shall  have  a  young  lady  on 
our  hands." 

Araminta  coloured  and  bent  more  closely  to 
her  sewing. 

"  I  hope  I  'm  not  annoying  you?"  questioned 
the  minister,  after  an  interval. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  politely. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  about  some  one,"  pursued 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Thorpe.  "It  seems  that  there 
is  a  new  tenant  in  the  old  house  on  the  hill  that 
has  been  empty  for  so  long — the  one  the  vill 
age  people  say  is  haunted.  It  seems  a  woman 
is  living  there,  quite  alone;  and  she  always 
wears  a  veil,  on  account  of  some — some  disfig 
urement." 

Miss  Hitty's  false  teeth  clicked  sharply, 
but  there  was  no  other  sound  except  the 
clock,  which,  in  the  pause,  struck  four.  "  I 
thought — "  continued  the  minister,  with  a 
rising  inflection. 

Hitherto,  he  had  found  his  hostess  of  in 
valuable  assistance  in  his  parish  work.  It  had 
been  necessary  to  mention  only  the  name.  As 
upon  the  turning  of  a  faucet  a  stream  of  in- 


Braminta 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Hraminta 


formation  gushed  forth  from  the  fountain  of 
her  knowledge.  Age,  date  and  place  of  birth, 
ancestry  on  both  sides  three  generations  back, 
with  complete  and  illuminating  biographical 
details  of  ancestry  and  individual;  education, 
financial  standing,  manner  of  living,  illnesses 
in  the  family,  including  dates  and  durations  of 
said  illnesses,  accidents,  if  any,  medical  attend 
ance,  marriages,  births,  deaths,  opinions,  re 
verses,  present  locations  and  various  careers  of 
descendants,  list  of  misfortunes,  festivities, 
entertainments,  church  affiliation  past  and 
present,  political  leanings,  and  a  vast  amount 
of  other  personal  data  had  been  immediately 
forthcoming.  Tagged  to  it,  like  the  postscript 
of  a  woman's  letter,  was  Miss  Hitty's  own  con 
cise,  permanent,  neatly  labelled  opinion  of  the 
family  or  individual,  the  latter  thrown  in  with 
out  extra  charge. 

"  Perhaps  you  did  n't  know/'  remarked  the 
minister,  "  that  such  a  woman  had  come."  His 
tone  was  inquiring.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
something  must  be  wrong  if  she  did  not  know. 

"  Minty/'  said  Miss  Hitty,  abruptly,  "  leave 
the  room!" 

Araminta  rose,  gathered  up  her  patchwork, 
and  went  out,  carefully  closing  the  door.  It 


Btaminta 


73 


was  only  in  moments  of  great  tenderness  that 
her  aunt  called  her  "  Minty." 

The  light  footsteps  died  away  upon  the 
stairs.  Tactlessly,  the  minister  persisted. 
"  Don't  you  know?"  he  asked. 

Miss  Mehitable  turned  upon  him.  "  If  I 
did,"  she  replied,  hotly,  "  I  would  n't  tell  any 
prying,  gossiping  man.  I  never  knew  before 
it  was  part  of  a  minister's  business  to  meddle 
in  folks'  private  affairs.  You  'd  better  be 
writing  your  sermon  and  studyin'  up  on  hell." 

"  I — I — "  stammered  the  minister,  taken 
wholly  by  surprise,  "I  only  hoped  to  give  her 
the  consolation  of  the  church." 

"  Consolation  nothing!"  snorted  Miss  Hitty. 
"  Let  her  alone!"  She  went  out  of  the  room 
and  slammed  the  door  furiously,  leaving  the 
Reverend  Austin  Thorpe  overcome  with  deep 
and  lasting  amazement. 


Bramfnta 


74 


Ipfpee  o* 
pan 


VI 

pipes  o'  pan 

SLEET  had  fallen  in  the  night,  but  at  sun 
rise,  the  storm  ceased.  Miss  Evelina  had 
gone  to  sleep,  lulled  into  a  sense  of  security  by 
the  icy  fingers  tapping  at  her  cobwebbed  win 
dow  pane.  She  awoke  in  a  transfigured  world. 

Every  branch  and  twig  was  encased  in  crys 
tal,  upon  which  the  sun  was  dazzling.  Jewels, 
poised  in  midair,  twinkled  with  the  colours  of 
the  rainbow.  On  the  tip  of  the  cypress  at  the 
gate  was  a  ruby,  a  sapphire  gleamed  from  the 
rose-bush,  and  everywhere  were  diamonds  and 
pearls. 

Frosty  vapour  veiled  the  spaces  between  the 
trees  and  javelins  of  sunlight  pierced  it  here 
and  there.  Beyond,  there  were  glimpses  of  blue 
sky,  and  drops  of  water,  falling  from  the  trees, 
made  a  musical  cadence  upon  the  earth 
beneath. 


pipes  o'  pan 


75 


Miss  Evelina  opened  her  window  still  more.       iPtpea 
The  air  was  peculiarly  soft  and  sweet.    It  had 
the  fragrance  of  opening  buds  and  growing 
things  and  still  had  not  lost  the  tang  of  the 
frost. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  it  and  straightway 
was  uplifted,  though  seemingly  against  her  will. 
Spring  was  stirring  at  the  heart  of  the  world, 
sending  new  currents  of  sap  into  the  veins  of  the 
trees,  new  aspirations  into  dead  roots  and 
fibres,  fresh  hopes  of  bloom  into  every  sleeping 
rose.  Life  incarnate  knocked  at  the  wintry 
tomb;  eager,  unseen  hands  were  rolling  away 
the  stone.  The  tide  of  the  year  was  rising,  soon 
to  break  into  the  wonder  of  green  boughs  and 
violets,  shimmering  wings  and  singing  winds. 

The  cold  hand  that  clutched  her  heart  took  a 
firmer  hold.  With  acute  self-pity,  she  perceived 
her  isolation.  Of  all  the  world,  she  alone  was 
set  apart;  branded,  scarred,  locked  in  a  prison 
house  that  had  no  door.  The  one  release  was 
denied  her  until  she  could  get  away. 

Poverty  had  driven  her  back.  Circumstances 
outside  her  control  had  pushed  her  through  the 
door  she  had  thought  never  to  enter  again. 
Through  all  the  five-and-twenty  years,  she  had 
thought  of  the  house  with  a  shudder,  peopling 


76 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


pipes  o' 
pan 


it  with  a  thousand  terrors,  not  knowing  that 
there  was  no  terror  save  her  own  fear. 

Sorrow  had  put  its  chains  upon  her  suddenly, 
at  a  time  when  she  had  not  the  strength  to 
break  the  bond.  At  first  she  had  struggled,  then 
ceased.  Since  then,  her  faculties  had  been  in 
suspense,  as  it  were.  She  had  forgotten  laugh 
ter,  veiled  herself  from  joy,  and  walked  hand 
in  hand  with  the  grisly  phantom  of  her  own 
conjuring. 

Behind  the  shelter  of  her  veil  she  had  mutely 
prayed  for  peace — she  dared  not  ask  for  more. 
And  peace  had  never  come.  Her  crowning 
humiliation  would  be  to  meet  Anthony  Dexter 
face  to  face — to  know  him,  and  to  have  him 
know  her.  Not  knowing  where  he  was,  she  had 
travelled  far  to  avoid  him.  Now,  seeking  the 
last  refuge,  the  one  place  on  earth  where  he 
could  not  be,  she  found  herself  separated  from 
him  by  less  than  a  mile.  More  than  that,  she 
had  gone  to  his  house,  as  she  had  gone  on  the 
fateful  day  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  She  had 
taken  back  the  pearls,  and  had  not  died  in 
doing  it.  Strangely  enough,  it  had  given  her  a 
vague  relief. 

Miss  Evelina's  mind  had  paused  at  twenty; 
she  had  not  grown.  The  acute  suffering  of 


pipes  o'  pan 


Youth  was  still  upon  her,  a  woman  of  forty-five. 
It  was  as  though  a  clock  nad  gone  on  ticking 
and  the  hands  had  never  moved;  the  dial  of 
her  being  was  held  at  that  dread  hour,  while 
her  broken  heart  beat  on. 

She  had  not  discovered  that  secret  compen 
sation  which  clings  to  the  commonest  affairs 
of  life.  One  sees  before  him  a  mountain  of  toil, 
an  apparently  endless  drudgery  from  which 
there  is  no  escape.  Having  once  begun  it,  an 
interest  appears  unexpectedly;  new  forces  ally 
themselves  with  the  fumbling  hands.  Mis 
fortunes  come,  "  not  singly,  but  in  battalions." 
After  the  first  shock  of  realisation,  one  per 
ceives  through  the  darkness  that  the  strength  to 
bear  them  has  come  also,  like  some  good  angel. 

A  lover  shudders  at  the  thought  of  Death, 
yet  knows  that  some  day,  on  the  road  they 
walk  together,  the  Grey  Angel  with  the  white 
poppies  will  surely  take  one  of  them  by  the 
hand.  The  road  winds  through  shadows, 
past  many  strange  and  difficult  places,  and 
wrecks  are  strewn  all  along  the  way.  They 
laugh  at  the  storms  that  beat  upon  them,  take 
no  reck  of  bruised  feet  nor  stumbling,  for,  be 
hold,  they  are  together,  and  in  that  one  word 
lies  all. 


|Mpe0  (>• 
pan. 


H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


pipes  o' 
pan 


Sometimes,  in  the  mist  ahead,  which,  as  they 
enter  it,  is  seen  to  be  wholly  of  tears,  the  road 
forks  blindly,  and  there  is  nothing  but  night 
al  ad  for  each.  The  Grey  Angel  with  the  un 
fathomable  eyes  approaches  slowly,  with  no 
sound  save  the  hushed  murmur  of  wings.  The 
dread  white  poppies  are  in  his  outstretched 
hand — the  great,  nodding  white  poppies  which 
have  come  from  the  dank  places  and  have 
never  known  the  sun. 

There  is  no  possible  denial.  At  first,  one 
knows  only  that  the  faithful  hand  has  grown 
cold,  then,  that  it  has  unclasped.  In  the  in 
tolerable  darkness,  one  fares  forth  alone  on  the 
other  fork  of  the  road,  too  stricken  for  tears. 

At  length  there  is  a  change.  Memories  troop 
from  the  shadow  to  whisper  consolation,  to  say 
that  Death  himself  is  powerless  against  Love, 
when  a  heart  is  deep  enough  to  hold  a  grave. 
The  clouds  lift,  and  through  the  night  comes 
some  stray  gleam  of  dawn.  No  longer  cold,  the 
dear  hand  nestles  once  more  into  the  one  that 
held  it  so  long.  Not  as  an  uncertain  presence 
but  as  a  loved  reality,  that  other  abides  with 
him  still. 

Shut  out  forever  from  the  possibility  of  es 
trangement,  for  there  is  always  that  drop  of 


pipes  o'  pan 


79 


bitterness  in  the  cup  of  Life  and  Love;  eter- 

pan 

nally  beyond  the  reach  of  misunderstanding  or 
change,  spared  the  pitfalls  and  disasters  of  the 
way  ahead,  blinded  no  longer  by  the  mists  of 
earth,  but  immortally  and  unchangeably  his, 
that  other  fares  with  him,  though  unseen,  upon 
the  selfsame  road. 

From  the  broken  night  comes  singing,  for 
the  white  poppies  have  also  brought  balm. 
Step  by  step,  his  Sorrow  has  become  his  friend, 
and  at  the  last,  when  the  old  feet  are  weary  and 
the  steep  road  has  grown  still  more  steep,  the 
Grey  Angel  comes  once  more. 

Past  the  mist  of  tears  in  which  he  once  was 
shrouded,  the  face  of  the  Grey  Angel  is  seen 
to  be  wondrously  kind.  By  his  mysterious 
alchemy,  he  has  crystallised  the  doubtful 
waters,  which  once  were  in  the  cup  of  Life  and 
Love,  into  a  jewel  which  has  no  flaw.  He  has 
kept  the  child  forever  a  child,  caught  the 
maiden  at  the  noon  of  her  beauty  to  enshrine 
her  thus  for  always  in  the  heart  that  loved  her 
most;  made  the  true  and  loving  comrade  a 
comrade  always,  though  on  the  highways  of 
the  vast  Unknown. 

It  is  seen  now  that  the  road  has  many  wind 
ings  and  that,  unconsciously,  the  wayfarer  has 


so 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


turned  back.     Eagerly  the  trembling  hands 

pan 

reach  forward  to  take  the  white  poppies,  and 
the  tired  eyes  close  as  though  the  silken  petals 
had  already  fluttered  downward  on  the  lids, 
for,  radiant  past  all  believing,  the  Grey  Angel 
still  holds  the  Best  Beloved  by  the  hand,  and 
the  roads  that  long  ago  had  forked  in  darkness, 
have  come  together,  in  more  than  mortal  dawn, 
at  the  selfsame  place. 

Upon  the  beauty  of  the  crystalline  March 
morning,  the  memory  of  the  Winter  sorrow 
still  lay.  The  bare,  brown  earth  was  not 
wholly  hidden  by  the  mantle  of  sleet  and  snow, 
yet  there  was  some  intangible  Easter  close  at 
hand.  Miss  Evelina  felt  it,  stricken  though 
she  was. 

From  a  distant  thicket  came  a  robin's  cheery 
call,  a  glimmer  of  blue  wings  flashed  across  the 
desolate  garden,  a  south  wind  stirred  the  bend 
ing,  icy  branches  to  a  tinkling  music,  and  she 
knew  that  Spring  had  come  to  all  but  her. 

Some  indefinite  impulse  sent  her  outdoors. 
Closely  veiled,  she  started  off  down  the  road, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  Miss 
Hitty  saw  her  pass,  but  graciously  forbore  to 
call  to  her;  Araminta  looked  up  inquiringly 


BMpes  o*  pan 


81 


from  her  sewing,  but  the  question  died  on  her 
lips. 

Down  through  the  village  she  went,  across 
the  tracks,  and  up  to  the  river  road.  It  had 
been  a  favourite  walk  of  hers  in  her  girlhood. 
Then  she  had  gone  with  a  quick,  light  step;  now 
she  went  slowly,  like  one  grown  old. 

Yet,  all  unconsciously,  life  was  quickening 
in  her  pulses;  the  old  magic  of  Spring  was 
stirring  in  her,  too.  Dark  and  deep,  the  waters 
of  the  river  rolled  dreamily  by,  waiting  for  the 
impulse  which  should  send  the  shallows  singing 
to  the  sea,  and  stir  the  depths  to  a  low,  mur 
murous  symphony. 

Upon  the  left,  as  she  walked,  the  road  was 
bordered  with  elms  and  maples,  stretching  far 
back  to  the  hills.  The  woods  were  full  of  un 
suspected  ravines  and  hollows,  queer  winding 
paths,  great  rocks,  and  tiny  streams.  The 
children  had  called  it  the  enchanted  forest,  and 
played  that  a  fairy  prince  and  princess  dwelt 
therein. 

The  childhood  memories  came  back  to  Eve 
lina  with  a  pang.  She  stopped  to  wipe  away  the 
tears  beneath  her  veil,  to  choke  back  a  sob 
that  tightened  her  throat.  Suddenly,  she  felt 
a  presentiment  of  oncoming  evil,  a  rushing 


|Mpc0  o' 
Ipan 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


JMpes  o' 
pan 


destiny  that  could  not  be  swerved  aside. 
Frightened,  she  turned  to  go  back,  then  stopped 
again, 

From  above,  on  the  upper  part  of  the  road, 
came  the  tread  of  horse's  feet  and  the  murmur 
of  wheels.  Her  face  paled  to  marble,  her  feet 
refused  to  move.  The  heart  within  her  stood 
portentously  still.  With  downcast  eyes  she 
stood  there,  petrified,  motionless,  like  a  woman 
carved  in  stone  and  clothed  in  black,  veiled 
impenetrably  in  chiffon. 

At  a  furious  pace,  Anthony  Dexter  dashed  by, 
his  face  as  white  as  her  chiffon.  She  had  known 
unerringly  who  was  coming;  and  had  felt  the 
searing  consciousness  of  his  single  glance  be 
fore,  with  a  muttered  oath,  he  had  lashed  his 
horse  to  a  gallop.  This,  then,  was  the  last; 
there  was  nothing  more. 

The  sound  of  the  wheels  died  away  in  the 
distance.  He  had  the  pearls,  he  had  seen  her, 
he  knew  that  she  had  come  back.  And  still  she 
lived. 

Clear  and  high,  like  a  bugle  call,  a  strain  of 
wild  music  came  from  the  enchanted  forest. 
Evelina  threw  back  her  head,  gasping  for 
breath ;  her  sluggish  feet  stirred  forward.  Some 
forgotten  valour  of  her  spirit  leaped  to  answer 


BMpes  o*  pan 


the  summons,  as  a  soldier,  wounded  unto  death, 

Ipsn 
turns  to  follow  the  singing  trumpets  that  lead 

the  charge. 

Strangely  soft  and  tender,  the  strain  came 
again,  less  militant,  less  challenging.  Swiftly 
upon  its  echo  breathed  another,  hinting  of 
peace.  Shaken  to  her  inmost  soul  by  agony, 
she  took  heed  of  the  music  with  the  precise 
consciousness  one  gives  to  trifles  at  moments 
of  unendurable  stress.  Blindly  she  turned  into 
the  forest. 

"What  was  it?"she  asked  herself , repeatedly, 
wondering  that  she  could  even  hear  at  a  time 
like  this.  A  bird?  No,  there  was  never  a  bird 
to  sing  like  that.  Almost  it  might  be  Pan  him 
self  with  his  syrinx,  walking  abroad  on  the 
first  day  of  Spring. 

The  fancy  appealed  to  her  strongly,  her 
swirling  senses  having  become  exquisitely 
acute.  "  Pipes  o'  Pan,"  she  whispered,  "  I  will 
find  and  follow  you."  To  see  the  face  of  Pan 
meant  death,  according  to  the  old  Greek 
legend,  but  death  was  something  of  which  she 
was  not  afraid. 

Lyric,  tremulous,  softly  appealing,  the  music 
came  again.  The  bare  boughs  bent  with  their 
chiming  crystal,  and  a  twig  fell  at  her  feet. 


84 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Sunlight  starred  the  misty  distance  with  pearl  ; 

pan 

shining  branches  swayed  to  meet  her  as  she 
passed. 

Farther  in  the  wood,  she  turned,  uncon 
sciously  in  pursuit  of  that  will-o'-the-wisp  of 
sound.  Here  and  there  out  of  the  silence,  it 
came  to  startle  her;  to  fill  her  with  strange 
forebodings  which  were  not  wholly  of  pain. 

Some  subliminal  self  guided  her,  for  heart 
and  soul  were  merged  in  a  quivering  ecstasy  of 
torture  which  throbbed  and  thundered  and 
overflowed.  "  He  saw  me  !  He  saw  me  !  He  saw 
me!  He  knew  me!  He  knew  me!  He  knew 
me!"  In  a  triple  rhythm  the  words  vibrated 
back  and  forth  unceasingly,  as  though  upon  a 
weaver's  shuttle. 

For  nearly  an  hour  she  went  blindly  in 
search  of  the  music,  pausing  now  and  then  to 
listen  intently,  at  times  disheartened  enough 
to  turn  back.  She  had  a  mad  fancy  that  Death 
was  calling  her,  from  some  far  height,  because 
Anthony  Dexter  had  passed  her  on  the  road. 

Now  trumpet-like  and  commanding,  now 
tender  and  appealing,  the  mystic  music  danced 
about  her  capriciously.  Her  feet  grew  weary, 
but  the  blood  and  the  love  of  life  had  begun  to 
move  in  her,  too,  when  her  whole  nature  was 


BMpes  o'  pan 


unspeakably  stirred.    She  paused  and  leaned    pipes 
against  a  tree,  to  listen  for  the  pipes  o'  Pan. 

But  all  was  silent;  the  white  stillness  of  the 
enchanted  forest  was  like  that  of  another  world. 
With  a  sigh,  she  turned  to  the  left,  reflecting 
that  a  long  walk  straight  through  the  woods 
would  bring  her  out  on  the  other  road  at  a  point 
near  her  own  home. 

Exquisitely  faint  and  tender,  the  call  rang 
out  again.  It  was  like  some  far  flute  of  April 
blown  in  a  March  dawn.  "  Oh,  pipes  o'  Pan," 
breathed  Evelina,  behind  her  shielding  veil; 
"  I  pray  you  find  me  !  I  pray  you,  give  me  joy  — 
or  death!" 

Swiftly  the  music  answered,  like  a  trumpet 
chanting  from  a  height.  Scarcely  knowing 
what  she  did,  she  began  to  climb  the  hill.  It 
was  a  more  difficult  way,  but  a  nearer  one,  for 
just  beyond  the  hill  was  her  house. 

Half-way  up  the  ascent,  the  hill  sloped  back. 
There  was  a  small  level  place  where  one  might 
rest  before  going  on  to  the  summit.  It  was  not 
more  than  a  little  nook,  surrounded  by  pines. 
As  she  came  to  it,  there  was  a  frightened  chirp, 
and  a  flock  of  birds  fluttered  up  from  her  feet, 
leaving  a  generous  supply  of  crumbs  and  grain 
spread  upon  the  earth. 


86 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


Against  a  great  tree  leaned  a  man,  so  brown 

IPan 

and  shaggy  in  his  short  coat  that  he  seemed 
like  part  of  the  tree  trunk.  He  was  of  medium 
height,  wore  high  leather  gaiters,  and  a  grey 
felt  hat  with  a  long  red  quill  thrust  rakishly 
through  the  band.  His  face  was  round  and 
rosy  and  the  kindest  eyes  in  the  world  twinkled 
at  Evelina  from  beneath  his  bushy  eyebrows. 
At  his  feet,  quietly  happy,  was  a  bright-eyed, 
yellow  mongrel  with  a  stubby  tail  which 
wagged  violently  as  Evelina  approached. 
Slung  over  the  man's  shoulder  by  a  cord  was  a 
silver-mounted  flute. 

From  his  elevated  position,  he  must  have 
seen  her  when  she  entered  the  wood,  and  had 
glimpses  of  her  at  intervals  ever  since.  It  was 
evident  that  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  musical 
hide-and-seek  he  had  forced  her  to  play  while 
he  was  feeding  the  birds.  His  eyes  laughed  and 
there  were  mischievous  dimples  in  his  round, 
rosy  cheeks. 

"Oh,"  cried  Evelina,  in  a  tone  of  dull  dis 
appointment. 

"I  called  you/'  said  the  Piper,  gently,  "  and 
you  came." 

She  turned  on  her  heel  and  walked  swiftly 
away.  She  went  downhill  with  more  haste 


o*  pan 


than  dignity,  turned  to  her  right,  and  struck 
out  through  the  woods  for  the  main  road. 

The  Piper  watched  her  until  she  was  lost 
among  the  trees.  The  birds  came  back  for 
their  crumbs  and  grain  and  he  stood  patiently 
until  his  feathered  pensioners  had  finished  and 
flown  away,  chirping  with  satisfaction.  Then 
he  stooped  to  pat  the  yellow  mongrel. 

"  Laddie,"  he  said,  "  I  'm  thinking  there  's 
no  more  gypsying  for  us  just  now.  To-morrow, 
we  will  not  pack  our  shop  upon  our  back  and 
march  on,  as  we  had  thought  to  do.  Some  one 
needs  us  here,  eh,  Laddie?" 

The  dog  capered  about  his  master's  feet  as  if 
he  understood  and  fully  agreed.  He  was  a 
pitiful  sort,  even  for  a  mongrel.  One  of  his  legs 
had  been  broken  and  unskilfully  set,  so  he  did 
not  run  quite  like  other  dogs. 

"  Tis  n't  a  very  good  leg,  Laddie,"  the  Piper 
observed,  "  but  1  'm  thinking  't  is  better  than 
none.  Anyway,  I  did  my  best  with  it,  and  now 
we  '11  push  on  a  bit.  It 's  our  turn  to  follow, 
and  we  're  fain,  Laddie,  you  and  I,  to  see  where 
she  lives/' 

Bidding  the  dog  stay  at  heel,  the  Piper 
followed  Miss  Evelina's  track.  By  dint  of 
rapid  walking,  he  reached  the  main  road 


88 


pipes  o'  pan 


Pan 


shortly  after  she  did.  Keeping  a  respectful 
distance,  and  walking  at  the  side  of  the  road, 
he  watched  her  as  she  went  home.  From  the 
safe  shelter  of  a  clump  of  alders  just  below 
Miss  Mehitable's  he  saw  the  veiled  figure  enter 
the  broken  gate. 

"  T  is  the  old  house,  Laddie/'  he  said  to  the 
dog;  "  the  very  one  we  were  thinking  of  taking 
ourselves.  Come  on,  now;  we  '11  be  going. 
Down,  sir!  Home!" 


8g 


VII 

*£be  Ibonour  of  tbe  Spoken  Wor&" 

ANTHONY  DEXTER    sat  in  his  library, 
1  honour  of 
alone,  as  usual.  Under  the  lamp,  Ralph's  i  be  spoken 

letters  were  spread  out  before  him,  but  he  was 
not  reading.  Indeed,  he  knew  every  line  of 
them  by  heart,  but  he  could  not  keep  his  mind 
upon  the  letters. 

Between  his  eyes  and  the  written  pages 
there  came  persistently  a  veiled  figure,  clothed 
shabbily  in  sombre  black.  Continually  he 
fancied  the  horror  the  veil  concealed;  contin 
ually,  out  of  the  past,  his  cowardice  and  his 
shirking  arose  to  confront  him. 

A  photograph  of  his  wife,  who  had  died  soon 
after  Ralph  was  born,  had  been  taken  from  the 
drawer.  "A  pretty,  sweet  woman/'  he  mused. 
"A  good  wife  and  a  good  mother."  He  told 
himself  again  that  he  had  loved  her— that  he 
loved  her  still. 


go 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"Ube 
Ibonouc  of 
tbe  Spofeen 


Yet  behind  his  thought  was  sure  know 
ledge.  The  woman  who  had  entered  the  secret 
fastnesses  of  his  soul,  and  before  whom  he  had 
trembled,  was  the  one  whom  he  had  seen  in  the 
dead  garden,  frail  as  a  ghost,  and  again  on  the 
road  that  morning. 

Dimly,  and  now  for  the  first  time,  there  came 
to  his  perception  that  recognition  of  his  mate 
which  each  man  carries  in  his  secret  heart  when 
he  has  found  his  mate  at  all.  Past  the  anguish 
that  lay  between  them  like  a  two-edged  sword, 
and  through  the  mists  of  the  estranging  years, 
Evelina  had  come  back  to  claim  her  own. 

He  saw  that  they  were  bound  together, 
scarred  in  body  or  scarred  in  soul;  crippled, 
mutilated,  or  maimed  though  either  or  both 
might  be,  the  one  significant  fact  was  not 
altered. 

He  knew  now  that  his  wife  and  the  mother 
of  his  child  had  stood  outside,  as  all  women  but 
the  one  must  ever  stand.  Nor  did  he  guess  that 
she  had  known  it  from  the  first  and  that  heart- 
hunger  had  hastened  her  death. 

Aside  from  a  very  deep-seated  gratitude  to 
her  for  his  son,  Anthony  Dexter  cherished  no 
emotion  for  the  sake  of  his  dead  wife.  She  had 
come  and  gone  across  his  existence  as  a  butter- 


tube  Dortour  of  tbe  Spofcen  KHotto" 


fly  crosses  a  field,  touching  lightly  here  and 
there,  but  lingering  not  at  all.  Except  for 
Ralph,  it  was  as  though  she  had  never  been,  so 
little  did  she  now  exist  for  him. 

Yet  Evelina  was  vital,  alive,  and  out  of  the 
horror  she  had  come  back.  To  him?  He  did 
not  believe  that  she  had  come  definitely  to  seek 
him — he  knew  her  pride  too  well  for  that.  His 
mind  strove  to  grasp  the  reason  of  her  coming, 
but  it  eluded  him;  evaded  him  at  every  point. 
She  had  not  forgotten ;  if  she  had,  she  would  not 
have  given  back  that  sinuous  necklace  of  dis 
coloured  pearls. 

By  the  way,  what  had  he  done  with  the 
necklace?  He  remembered  now.  He  had 
thrown  it  far  into  the  shrubbery,  for  the  pearls 
were  dead  and  the  love  was  dead. 

"  First  from  the  depths  of  the  sea  and  then 
from  the  depths  of  my  love."  The  mocking 
words,  written  in  faded  ink  on  the  yellowed 
slip  of  paper,  danced  impishly  across  the  pages 
of  Ralph's  letters.  He  had  a  curious  fancy  that 
if  his  love  had  been  deep  enough  the  pearls 
would  not  have  turned  black. 

Impatiently, he  rose  from  the  table  and  paced 
back  and  forth  restlessly  across  the  library. 
"  I  'm  a  fool,"  he  growled;  "  a  doddering 


Ibonour  of 
tbe  Spofcen 


H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


TTbe 

onouc  of 
be  Spofeen 
mot*" 


ing  old  fool.    No,  that  's  not  it — I  've  worked 
too  hard." 

Valiantly  he  strove  to  dispel  the  phantoms 
that  clustered  about  him.  A  light  step  behind 
him  chimed  in  with  his  as  he  walked  and  he 
feared  to  look  around,  not  knowing  it  was  but 
the  echo  of  his  own. 

He  want  to  a  desk  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
and  opened  a  secret  drawer  that  had  not  been 
opened  for  a  long  time.  He  took  out  a  photo 
graph,  wrapped  in  yellowed  tissue  paper,  and 
went  back  to  the  table.  He  unwrapped  it,  his 
blunt  white  fingers  trembling  ever  so  slightly, 
and  sat  down. 

A  face  of  surpassing  loveliness  looked  back 
at  him.  It  was  Evelina,  at  the  noon  of  her 
girlish  beauty,  her  face  alight  with  love. 
Anthony  Dexter  looked  long  at  the  perfect 
features,  the  warm,  sweet,  tempting  mouth,  the 
great,  trusting  eyes,  and  the  brown  hair  that 
waved  so  softly  back  from  her  face;  the  all- 
pervading  and  abiding  womanliness.  There 
was  strength  as  well  as  beauty;  tenderness, 
courage,  charm. 

"  Mate  for  a  man,"  said  Dexter,  aloud.  For 
such  women  as  Evelina,  the  knights  of  old  did 
battle,  and  men  of  other  centuries  fought  with 


"Hbe  Ibonour  of  tbe  Spoken 


93 


their  own  temptations  and  weaknesses.  It  was 
such  as  she  who  led  men  to  the  heights,  and 
pointed  them  to  heights  yet  farther  on. 

Insensibly,  he  compared  Ralph's  mother 
with  Evelina.  The  two  women  stood  as  far 
apart  as  a  little,  meaningless  song  stands  from 
a  great  symphony.  One  would  fire  a  man  with 
high  ambition,  exalt  him  with  noble  striving — 
ah,  but  had  she  ?  Was  it  Evelina's  fault  that 
Anthony  Dexter  was  a  coward  and  a  shirk  ? 
Cravenly,  he  began  to  blame  the  woman,  to  lay 
the  burden  of  his  own  shortcomings  at  Eve 
lina's  door. 

Yet  still  the  face  stirred  him.  There  was  life 
in  those  walled  fastnesses  of  his  nature  which 
long  ago  he  had  denied.  Self-knowledge  at  last 
confronted  him,  and  would  not  be  put  away. 

"And  so,  Evelina,"  he  said  aloud,  "you 
have  come  back.  And  what  do  you  want  ? 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

The  bell  rang  sharply,  as  if  answering  his 
question.  He  started  from  his  chair,  having 
heard  no  approaching  footsteps.  He  covered 
the  photograph  of  Evelina  with  Ralph's  letters, 
but  the  sweet  face  of  the  boy's  mother  still 
looked  out  at  him  from  its  gilt  frame. 

The  old  housekeeper  went  to  the  door  with 


"Ube 
Honour  o 
tbe  Spofce 


94 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"Ubc 
•foonout  of 
tbe  Spcfcen 


the  utmost  leisure.  It  seemed  to  him  an  eter 
nity  before  the  door  was  opened.  He  stood 
there,  waiting,  summoning  his  faculties  of 
calmness  and  his  powers  of  control,  to  meet 
Evelina — to  have  out,  at  last,  all  the  shame  of 
the  years. 

But  it  was  not  Evelina.  The  Reverend 
Austin  Thorpe  was  wiping  his  feet  carefully 
upon  the  door-mat,  and  asking  in  deep,  vibrant 
tones :  "  I  s  the  Doctor  in  ?  " 

Anthony  Dexter  could  have  cried  out  from 
relief.  When  the  white-haired  old  man  came 
in,  floundering  helplessly  among  the  furniture, 
as  a  near-sighted  person  does,  he  greeted  him 
with  a  cordiality  that  warmed  his  heart. 

"I  am  glad,"  said  the  minister,  "to  find  you 
in.  Sometimes  I  am '  not  so  fortunate.  I  came 
late,  for  that  reason." 

"  I  've  been  busy,"  returned  the  Doctor. 
"Sit  down." 

The  minister  sank  into  an  easy  chair  and 
leaned  toward  the  light.  "  I  wish  I  could  have 
a  lamp  like  this  in  my  room,"  he  remarked. 
"  It  gives  a  good  light." 

"You  can  have  this  one,"  returned  Dexter, 
with  an  hysterical  laugh. 

"  I  was  not  begging,"  said  Mr.  Thorpe,  with 


UDotpur  of  tbe  Spoken  TOorb" 


95 


dignity.  "  Miss  Mehitable's  lamps  are  all  small. 
Some  of  them  give  no  more  light  than  a 
candle." 

" '  How  far  that  little  candle  throws  its 
beams,'"  quoted  Dexter.  "'  So  shines  a  good 
deed  in  a  naughty  world.'" 

There  was  a  long  interval  of  silence.  Some 
times  Thorpe  and  Doctor  Dexter  would  sit  for 
an  entire  evening  with  less  than  a  dozen  words 
spoken  on  either  side,  yet  feeling  the  comfort 
of  human  companionship. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said,  Thorpe,  finally,  "  of 
the  supreme  isolation  of  the  human  soul.  You 
and  I  sit  here,  talking  or  not,  as  the  mood 
strikes  us,  and  yet,  what  does  speech  matter? 
You  know  no  more  of  me  than  I  choose  to  give 
you,  nor  1  of  you." 

"  No,"  responded  Dexter,  "  that  is  quite 
true."  He  did  not  realise  what  Thorpe  had 
just  said,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  safe  to  agree. 

"  One  grows  morbid  in  thinking  of  it,"  pur 
sued  Thorpe,  screening  his  blue  eyes  from  the 
light  with  his  hand.  "We  are  like  a  vast  plain 
of  mountain  peaks.  Some  of  us  have  our  heads 
in  the  clouds  always,  up  among  the  eternal 
snows.  Thunders  boom  about  us,  lightning 
rives  us,  storm  and  sleet  beat  upon  us.  There 


"Ube 
Ibonour  of 
be  Spofcen 


96 


H  Spinner  In  tbe 


is  a  rumbling  on  some  distant  peak  and  we 
know  that  it  rains  there,  too.  That  is  all  we 

THRorb" 

ever  know.  We  are  not  quite  sure  when  our 
neighbours  are  happy  or  when  they  are  trou 
bled;  when  there  is  sun  and  when  there  is 
storm.  The  secret  forces  in  the  interior  of  the 
mountain  work  on  unceasingly.  The  distance 
hides  it  all.  We  never  get  near  enough  to  an 
other  peak  to  see  the  scars  upon  its  surface,  to 
know  of  the  dead  timber  and  the  dried  streams, 
the  marks  of  avalanches  and  glacial  drift,  the 
precipices  and  pitfalls,  the  barren  wastes.  In 
blue,  shimmering  distance,  the  peaks  are  veiled 
and  all  seem  fair  but  our  own." 

At  the  word  " veiled,"  Dexter  shuddered. 
"Very  pretty,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  laugh 
which  sounded  flat.  "Why  don't  you  put  it 
into  a  sermon?" 

Thorpe's  face  became  troubled.  "  My  ser 
mons  do  not  please,"  he  answered,  with  touch 
ing  simplicity.  "They  say  there  is  not  enough 
of  hell." 

"  I  'm  satisfied,"  commented  the  Doctor,  in  a 
grating  voice.  "  I  think  there  's  plenty  of 
hell." 

"  You  never  come  to  church,"  remarked  the 
minister,  not  seeing  the  point. 


Ibonout  of  tbe  Spofeen 


97 


"There 's  hell  enough  outside — for  any  rea 
sonable  mortal,"  returned  Dexter.  He  was 
keyed  to  a  high  pitch.  He  felt  that,  at  any  in 
stant,  something  might  snap  and  leave  him 
inert. 

Thorpe  sighed.  His  wrinkled  old  hand 
strayed  out  across  the  papers  and  turned  the 
face  of  Ralph's  mother  toward  him.  He 
studied  it  closely,  not  having  seen  it  before. 
Then  he  looked  up  at  the  Doctor,  whose  face 
was  again  like  a  mask. 

"Your — ?"  A  lift  of  the  eyebrows  finished 
the  question. 

Dexter  nodded,  with  assumed  carelessness. 
There  was  another  long  pause. 

"  Sometimes  I  envy  you/'  said  Thorpe,  lay 
ing  the  picture  down  carefully,  "you  have  had 
so  much  of  life  and  joy.  I  think  it  is  better 
for  you  to  have  had  her  and  lost  her  than  not 
to  have  had  her  at  all,"  he  continued,  uncon 
sciously  paraphrasing.  "  Even  in  your  loneli 
ness,  you  have  the  comfort  of  memory,  and 
your  boy — I  have  wondered  what  a  son  might 
mean  to  me,  now,  in  my  old  age.  Dead  though 
she  is,  you  know  she  still  loves  you;  that  some 
where  she  is  waiting  to  take  your  hand  in 
hers." 


"Ube     ; 
Ixmour  of 


WBoto. 


H  Spinfter  in  tbe  Sun 


"TTbe 
Ibonour  of 
tbe  Spofcen 


11  Don't!"  cried  Dexter.  The  strain  was  well- 
nigh  insupportable. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  friend,"  returned  Thorpe, 
quickly.  "  I — "  Then  he  paused.  "As  I  was 
saying,"  he  went  on,  after  a  little,  "  I  have 
often  envied  you." 

"  Don't,"  said  Dexter,  again.  "As  you  were 
also  saying,  distance  hides  the  peak  and  you  do 
not  see  the  scars." 

Thorpe's  eyes  sought  the  picture  of  Dexter's 
wife  with  an  evident  tenderness,  mingled  with 
yearning.  "I  often  think,"  he  sighed,  "that  in 
Heaven  we  may  have  a  chance  to  pay  our  debt 
to  woman.  Through  woman's  agony  we  come 
into  the  world,  by  woman's  care  we  are  nour 
ished,  by  woman's  wisdom  we  are  taught,  by 
woman's  love  we  are  sheltered,  and,  at  the  last, 
it  is  a  woman  who  closes  our  eyes.  At  every 
crisis  of  a  man's  life,  a  woman  is  always  waiting, 
to  help  him  if  she  may,  and  I  have  seen  that  at 
any  crisis  in  a  woman's  life,  we  are  apt  to  draw 
back  and  shirk.  She  helps  us  bear  our  difficul 
ties  ;  she  faces  hers  alone." 

Dexter  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair.  His  face 
was  inscrutable.  The  silent  moment  cried  out 
for  speech — for  anything  to  relieve  the  ten 
sion.  Through  Ralph's  letters  Evelina's  eyes 


tlbe  ffconour  of  tbe  Spofeen  Worb  " 


99 


seemed  to  be  upon  him,  beseeching  him  to 
speak. 

"  I  knew  a  man/'  said  Anthony  Dexter, 
hoarsely,  "  who  unintentionally  contracted 
quite  an  unusual  debt  to  a  woman." 

"Yes?"  returned  Thorpe,  inquiringly.  He 
was  interested. 

"  He  was  a  friend  of  mine,"  the  Doctor  con 
tinued,  with  difficulty,  "or  rather  a  classmate. 
I  knew  him  best  at  college  and  afterward — 
only  slightly." 

"  The  debt,"  Thorpe  reminded  him,  after  a 
pause.  "You  were  speaking  of  his  debt  to  a 
woman." 

Dexter  turned  his  face  away  from  Thorpe 
and  from  the  accusing  eyes  beneath  Ralph's 
letters.  "  She  was  a  very  beautiful  girl,"  he 
went  on,  carefully  choosing  his  words,  "  and 
they  loved  each  other  as  people  love  but  once. 
My — my  friend  was  much  absorbed  in  chemis 
try  and  had  a  fondness  for  original  experiment. 
She — the  girl,  you  know — used  to  study  with 
him.  He  was  teaching  her  and  she  often  helped 
him  in  the  laboratory. 

"They  were  to  be  married,"  continued 
Dexter.  "  The  day  before  they  were  to  be  mar 
ried,  he  went  to  her  house  and  invited  her  to 


Ibonour  of 
tbe  Spjft 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"Ube 
Ibonour  of 
tbe  Spofeen 


come  to  the  laboratory  to  see  an  experiment 
which  he  was  trying  for  the  first  time  and 
which  promised  to  be  unusually  interesting.  I 
need  not  explain  the  experiment — you  would 
not  understand. 

"  On  the  way  to  the  laboratory,  they  were 
talking,  as  lovers  will.  She  asked  him  if  he 
loved  her  because  she  was  herself;  because,  of 
all  the  women  in  the  world,  she  was  the  one 
God  meant  for  him,  or  if  he  loved  her  because 
he  thought  her  beautiful. 

"  He  said  that  he  loved  her  because  she  was 
herself,  and,  most  of  all,  because  she  was  his. 
'  Then/  she  asked,  timidly,  'when  I  am  old  and 
all  the  beauty  has  gone,  you  will  love  me  still  ? 
It  will  be  the  same,  even  when  I  am  no  longer 
lovely  ?' 

"  He  answered  her  as  any  man  would,  never 
dreaming  how  soon  he  was  to  be  tested. 

"In  the  laboratory,  they  were  quite  alone.  He 
began  the  experiment,  explaining  as  he  went, 
and  she  watched  it  as  eagerly  as  he.  He  turned 
away  for  a  moment,  to  get  another  chemical. 
As  he  leaned  over  the  retort  to  put  it  in,  he 
heard  it  seethe.  With  all  her  strength,  she 
pushed  him  away  instantly.  There  was  an  ex 
plosion  which  shook  the  walls  of  the  laboratory, 


f>onour  of 


101 


a  quantity  of  deadly  gas  was  released,  and,  in 
the  fumes,  they  both  fainted. 

"When  he  came  to  his  senses,  he  learned 
that  she  had  been  terribly  burned,  and  had 
been  taken  on  the  train  to  the  hospital.  He 
was  the  one  physician  in  the  place  and  it  was 
the  only  thing  to  be  done. 

"As  soon  as  he  could,  he  went  to  the  hos 
pital.  They  told  him  there  that  her  life  would 
be  saved  and  they  hoped  for  her  eyesight,  but 
that  she  would  be  permanently  and  horribly 
disfigured.  All  of  her  features  were  destroyed, 
they  said — she  would  be  only  a  pitiful  wreck 
of  a  woman." 

Thorpe  was  silent.  His  blue  eyes  were  dim 
with  pity.  Dexter  rose  and  stood  in  front  of 
him.  "  Do  you  understand?"  he  asked,  in  a 
voice  that  was  almost  unrecognisable.  "  His 
face  was  close  to  the  retort  when  she  pushed 
him  away.  She  saved  his  life  and  he  went  away 
— he  never  saw  her  again.  He  left  her  with 
out  so  much  as  a  word." 

"  He  went  away?  "  asked  the  minister,  in 
credulously.  "  Went  away  and  left  her  when 
she  had  so  much  to  bear  ?  Deserted  her  when 
she  needed  him  to  help  her  bear  it,  and  when 
she  had  saved  him  from  death,  or  worse  ?  " 


"Ube 

•fconour  of 

tbe  Spoken 

THUoro" 


103 


;$  Spinet  in  tbe  Sun 


'Ube 
•fconour  of 
tbe  Spoften 


"You  would  not  believe  it  possible?  "  queried 
Dexter,  endeavouring  to  make  his  voice  even. 

"  Of  a  cur,  yes,"  said  the  minister,  his  voice 
trembling  with  indignation,  "  but  of  a  man, 
no." 

Anthony  Dexter  shrank  back  within  him 
self.  He  was  breathing  heavily,  but  his  com 
panion  did  not  notice. 

"  It  was  long  ago,"  the  Doctor  continued, 
when  he  had  partially  regained  his  composure. 
He  dared  not  tell  Thorpe  that  the  man  had 
married  in  the  meantime,  lest  he  should  guess 
too  much.  "  The  woman  still  lives,  and  my — 
friend  lives  also.  He  has  never  felt  right  about 
it.  What  should  he  do?" 

"  The  honour  of  the  spoken  word  still  holds 
him,"  said  Thorpe,  evenly.  "As  I  understand, 
he  asked  her  to  marry  him  and  she  consented. 
He  was  never  released  from  his  promise — did 
not  even  ask  for  it.  He  slunk  away  like  a  cur. 
In  the  sight  of  God  he  is  bound  to  her  by  his 
own  word  still.  He  should  go  to  her  and  either 
fulfil  his  promise  or  ask  for  release.  The  tardy 
fulfilment  of  his  promise  would  be  the  only 
atonement  he  could  make." 

The  midnight  train  came  in  and  stopped,  but 
neither  heard  it. 


44  TTbe  Ibonour  ot  tbe  Spofeen 


103 


"  It  would  be  very  difficult,"  Thorpe  was 
saying,  "  to  retain  any  shred  of  respect  for  a 
man  like  that.  It  shows  your  broad  charity 
when  you  call  him  '  friend/  I  myself  have  not 
so  much  grace." 

Anthony  Dexter' s  breath  came  painfully. 
He  tightened  his  fingers  on  the  arm  of  the  chair 
and  said  nothing. 

"It  is  a  peculiar  coincidence,"  mused 
Thorpe.  He  was  thinking  aloud  now.  "  In  the 
old  house  just  beyond  Miss  Mehitable's,  farther 
up,  you  know,  a  woman  has  just  come  to  live 
who  seems  to  have  passed  through  something 
like  that.  It  would  be  strange,  would  it  not,  if 
she  were  the  one  whom  your — friend — had 
wronged  ?" 

"Very,"  answered  Dexter,  in  a  voice  the 
other  scarcely  heard. 

"  Perhaps,  in  this  way,  we  may  bring  them 
together  again.  If  the  woman  is  here,  and  you 
can  find  your  friend,  we  may  help  him  to  wash 
the  stain  of  cowardice  off  his  soul.  Some 
times,"  cried  Thorpe  passionately,  "  I  think 
there  is  no  sin  but  shirking.  I  can  excuse  a 
liar,  I  can  pardon  a  thief,  I  can  pity  a  mur 
derer,  but  a  shirk — no!"  His  voice  broke  and 
his  wrinkled  old  hands  trembled. 


Ibonour  of 
tbe  Spofcen 


104 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


•Ube 
fwnour  of 
tbe  Spofcen 


4 '  My — my  friend,"  lied  Anthony  Dexter, 
wiping  the  cold  sweat  from  his  forehead,  "  lives 
abroad.  I  have  no  way  of  finding  him." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  returned  Thorpe.  "  Think  of  a 
man  meeting  his  God  like  that!  It  tempts  one 
to  believe  in  a  veritable  hell!" 

"  I  think  there  is  a  veritable  hell,"  said 
Dexter,  with  a  laugh  which  was  not  good  to 
hear.  "  I  think,  by  this  time,  my  friend  must 
believe  in  it  as  well.  I  remember  that  he  did 
not,  before  the — it,  I  mean,  happened." 

Far  from  feeling  relief,  Anthony  Dexter  was 
scourged  anew.  A  thousand  demons  leaped 
from  the  silence  to  mock  him;  the  earth  rolled 
beneath  his  feet.  The  impulse  of  confession 
was  strong  upon  him,  even  in  the  face  of 
Thorpe's  scorn.  He  wondered  why  only  one 
church  saw  the  need  of  the  confessional,  why 
he  could  not  go,  even  to  Thorpe,  and  share  the 
burden  that  oppressed  his  guilty  soul. 

The  silence  was  not  to  be  borne.  The  walls 
of  the  room  swayed  back  and  forth,  as  though 
they  were  of  fabric  and  stirred  by  all  the  winds 
of  hell.  The  floor  undulated;  his  chair  sank 
dizzily  beneath  him. 

Dexter  struggled  to  his  feet,  clutching  con 
vulsively  at  the  table.  His  lips  were  parched 


Ifoonour  of  tbe  Spofeen  MorO" 


105 


and  his  tongue  clung  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

"Thorpe/'    he    said,    in    a    hoarse    whisper, 
«  i» 

The  minister  raised  his  hand.  "Listen!  I 
thought  I  heard •" 

A  whistle  sounded  outside,  the  gate  clanged 
shut.  A  quick,  light  step  ran  up  the  walk,  the 
door  opened  noisily,  and  a  man  rushed  in.  He 
seemed  to  bring  into  that  hopeless  place  all  the 
freshness  of  immortal  Youth. 

Blinded,  Dexter  moved  forward,  his  hands 
outstretched  to  meet  that  eager  clasp. 

"Father!  Father!"  cried  Ralph,  joyously; 
"  I  've  come  home!  " 


"Ube 

Ibonouv of 

tbe  Spofcen 


io6 


piper 
Uom 


VIII 

BMper  Gom 

«T    ADDIE,"  said  the  Piper  to  the  yellow 

L'  mongrel,  "we  '11  be  having  breakfast 
now." 

The  dog  answered  with  a  joyous  yelp. 
"You  talk  too  much,"  observed  his  master,  in 
affectionate  reproof;  "  't  is  fitting  that  small 
yellow  dogs  should  be  seen  and  not  heard/' 

It  was  scarcely  sunrise,  but  the  Piper's  day 
began — and  ended — early.  He  had  a  roaring 
fire  in  the  tiny  stove  which  warmed  his  shop, 
and  the  tea-kettle  hummed  cheerily.  All  about 
him  was  the  atmosphere  of  immaculate  neat 
ness.  It  was  not  merely  the  lack  of  dust  and 
dirt,  but  a  positive  cleanliness. 

His  beardless  face  was  youthful,  but  the 
Piper's  hair  was  tinged  with  grey  at  the  tem 
ples.  One  judged  him  to  be  well  past  forty,  yet 
fully  to  have  retained  his  youth.  His  round, 
rosy  mouth  was  puckered  in  a  whistle  as  he 


piper  TTom  107 


moved  about  the  shop  and  spread  the  tiny 
table  with  a  clean  cloth. 

Ranged  about  him  in  orderly  rows  was  his 
merchandise.  Tom  Barnaby  never  bothered 
with  fixtures  and  showcases.  Chairs,  drygoods 
boxes,  rough  shelves  of  his  own  making,  and  a 
few  baskets  sufficed  him. 

In  the  waterproof  pedler's  pack  which  he 
carried  on  his  back  when  his  shop  was  in  tran 
sit,  he  had  only  the  smaller  articles  which 
women  continually  need.  Calico,  mosquito 
netting,  buttons,  needles,  thread,  tape,  ribbons, 
stationery,  hooks  and  eyes,  elastic,  shoe  laces, 
sewing  silk,  darning  cotton,  pins,  skirt  binding, 
and  a  few  small  frivolities  in  the  way  of  neck 
wear,  veils,  and  belts — these  formed  Piper 
Tom's  stock  in  trade.  By  dint  of  close  packing, 
he  wedged  an  astonishing  number  of  things 
into  a  small  space,  and  was  not  too  heavily 
laden  when,  with  his  dog  and  his  flute,  he  set 
forth  upon  the  highway  to  establish  his  shop  in 
the  next  place  that  seemed  promising. 

"All  unknowing,  Laddie/'  he  said  to  the 
dog,  as  he  sat  down  to  his  simple  breakfast, 
"we  've  come  into  competition  with  a  woman 
who  keeps  a  shop  like  ours,  which  we  did  n't 
mean  to  do.  It's  for  this  that  we  were  making  a 


io8  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

new  set  of  price  tags  all  day  of  yesterday,  which 
happened  to  be  the  Sabbath.  It  would  n't  be 
becoming  of  us  to  charge  less  than  she  and  take 
her  trade  away  from  her,  so  we  've  started  out 
on  an  even  basis. 

"  Poor  lady/'  laughed  the  Piper,  "  she  was 
not  willing  for  us  to  know  her  prices,  thinking 
we  were  going  to  sell  cheaper  than  she.  T  is 
a  hard  world  for  women,  Laddie.  I  'm  think 
ing  't  is  no  wonder  they  grow  suspicious  at 
times." 

The  dog  sat  patiently  till  Piper  Tom  finished 
his  breakfast,  well  knowing  that  a  generous 
share  would  be  given  him  outside.  While  the 
dog  ate,  his  master  put  the  shop  into  the  most 
perfect  order,  removing  every  particle  of  dust, 
and  whistling  meanwhile. 

When  the  weather  permitted,  the  shop  was 
often  left  to  keep  itself,  the  door  being  hos 
pitably  propped  open  with  a  brick,  while  the 
dog  and  his  master  went  gypsying.  With  a 
ragged,  well-worn  book  in  one  pocket,  a  parcel 
of  bread  and  cheese  in  another,  and  his  flute 
slung  over  his  shoulder,  the  Piper  was  prepared 
to  spend  the  day  abroad.  He  carried,  too,  a 
bone  for  the  dog,  well  wrapped  in  newspaper, 
and  an  old  silver  cup  to  drink  from. 


piper  ZTom 


I09 


Having  finished  his  breakfast,  the  dog 
scampered  about  eagerly,  indicating,  by  many 
leaps  and  barks,  that  it  was  time  to  travel, 
but  the  Piper  raised  his  hand. 

"  Not  to-day,  Laddie,"  he  said.  "  If  we  travel 
to-day,  we  '11  not  be  going  far.  Have  you  for 
gotten  that  't  was  only  day  before  yesterday 
we  found  our  work?  Come  here." 

The  dog  seated  himself  before  the  Piper,  his 
stubby  tail  wagging  impatiently. 

"  She  's  a  poor  soul,  Laddie,"  sighed  the 
Piper,  at  length.  "  I  'm  thinking  she  's  seen 
Sorrow  face  to  face  and  has  never  had  the 
courage  to  turn  away.  She  was  walking  in  the 
woods,  trying  to  find  the  strange  music,  and 
was  disappointed  when  she  saw  't  was  only  us. 
We  must  make  her  glad  't  was  us." 

After  a  long  time,  the  Piper  spoke  again, 
with  a  lingering  tenderness.  "  She  must  be 
very  beautiful,  I  'm  thinking,  Laddie;  else  she 
would  not  hide  her  face.  Very  beautiful  and 
very  sad." 

When  the  sun  was  high,  Piper  Tom  climbed 
the  hill,  followed  by  his  faithful  dog.  On  his 
shoulder  he  bore  a  scythe  and  under  the  other 
arm  was  a  spade.  He  entered  Miss  Evelina's 
gate  without  ceremony  and  made  a  wry  face  as 


no 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ipiper 


he  looked  about  him.  He  scarcely  knew  where 
to  begin. 

The  sound  of  the  wide,  even  strokes  roused 
Miss  Evelina  from  her  lethargy,  and  she  went 
to  the  window,  veiled.  At  first  she  was  fright 
ened,  when  she  saw  the  queer  man  whom  she 
had  met  in  the  woods  hard  at  work  in  her 
garden. 

The  red  feather  in  his  hat  bobbed  cheerfully 
up  and  down,  the  little  yellow  dog  ran  about 
busily,  and  the  Piper  was  whistling  lustily  an 
old,  half-forgotten  tune. 

She  watched  him  for  some  time,  then  a  new 
thought  frightened  her  again.  She  had  no 
money  with  which  to  pay  him  for  clearing  out 
her  garden,  and  he  would  undoubtedly  expect 
payment.  She  must  go  out  and  tell  him  not  to 
work  any  more;  that  she  did  not  wish  to  have 
the  weeds  removed. 

Cringing  before  the  necessity,  she  went  out. 
The  Piper  did  not  see  her  until  she  was  very 
near  him,  then,  startled  in  his  turn,  he  said, 
"Oh!"  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"  Good-morning,  madam,"  he  went  on,  mak 
ing  a  low  bow.  She  noted  that  the  tip  of  his  red 
feather  brushed  the  ground.  "What  can  I  do 
for  you,  more  than  I  'm  doing  now  ?  " 


piper  u 


"It  is  about  that/'  stammered  Evelina, 
"  that  I  came.  You  must  not  work  in  my 
garden." 

"  Surely,"  said  the  Piper,  "  you  don't  mean 
that !  Would  you  have  it  all  weeds  ?  And  't  is 
hard  work  for  such  as  you." 

"I — I — "  answered  Miss  Evelina,  almost  in 
a  whisper;  "I  have  no  money." 

The  Piper  laughed  heartily  and  put  on  his 
hat  again.  "  Neither  have  I,"  he  said,  between 
bursts  of  seemingly  uncalled-for  merriment, 
"  and  probably  I  'm  the  only  man  in  these 
parts  who 's  not  looking  for  it.  Did  you 
think  I  'd  ask  for  pay  for  working  in  the 
garden?" 

His  tone  made  her  feel  that  she  had  mis 
judged  him  and  she  did  not  know  what  to  say 
in  reply. 

"  Laddie  and  I  have  no  garden  of  our  own," 
he  explained,  "  and  so  we  're  digging  in  yours. 
The  place  wants  cleaning,  for  't  is  a  long  time 
since  any  one  cared  enough  for  it  to  dig.  I  was 
passing,  and  I  saw  a  place  I  thought  I  could 
make  more  pleasant.  Have  I  your  leave  to 
try?" 

"Why — why,  yes,"  returned  Miss  Evelina, 
slowly.  "  If  you  'd  like  to,  I  don't  mind." 


112 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


He  dismissed  her  airily,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  and  she  went  back  into  the  house,  never 
once  turning  her  head. 

"  She  's  our  work,  Laddie,"  said  the  Piper, 
"  and  I  'm  thinking  we  've  begun  in  the  right 
way.  All  the  old  sadness  is  piled  up  in  the 
garden,  and  I  'm  thinking  there 's  weeds  in  her 
life,  too,  that  it  's  our  business  to  take  out.  At 
any  rate,  we  '11  begin  here  and  do  this  first. 
One  step  at  a  time,  Laddie — one  step  at  a  time. 
That 's  all  we  have  to  take,  fortunately.  When 
we  can't  see  ahead,  it  's  because  we  can't  look 
around  a  corner." 

All  that  day  from  behind  her  cobwebbed 
windows,  Miss  Evelina  watched  the  Piper  and 
his  dog.  Weeds  and  thistles  fell  like  magic  be 
fore  his  strong,  sure  strokes.  He  carried  out 
armful  after  armful  of  rubbish  and  made  a 
small-sized  mountain  in  the  road,  confining  it 
with  stray  boards  and  broken  branches,  as  it 
was  too  wet  to  be  burned. 

Wherever  she  went,  in  the  empty  house,  she 
heard  that  cheery,  persistent  whistle.  As  usual, 
Miss  Hitty  left  a  tray  on  her  doorstep,  laden 
with  warm,  wholesome  food.  Since  that  first 
day,  she  had  made  no  attempt  to  see  Miss 
Evelina.  She  brought  her  tray,  rapped,  and 


Uom  113 


went  away  quietly,  exchanging  it  for  another 
when  it  was  time  for  the  next  meal. 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Evelina's  starved  body  was 
responding,  slowly  but  surely,  to  the  simple, 
well-cooked  food.  Hitherto,  she  had  not  cared 
to  eat  and  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  eating. 
Now  she  had  learned  to  discriminate  between 
hot  rolls  and  baking-powder  biscuit,  between 
thick  soups  and  thin  broths,  custards  and 
jellies. 

Miss  Evelina  had  wound  one  of  the  clocks, 
setting  it  by  the  midnight  train,  and  loosening 
the  machinery  by  a  few  drops  of  oil  which  she 
had  found  in  an  old  bottle,  securely  corked.  At 
eight,  at  one,  and  at  six,  Miss  Hitty's  tray  was 
left  at  her  back  door  —  there  had  not  been  the 
variation  of  a  minute  since  the  first  day.  Pre 
occupied  though  she  was,  Evelina  was  not  in 
sensible  of  the  kindness,  nor  of  the  fact  that  she 
was  stronger,  physically,  than  she  had  been  for 
years. 

And  now  in  the  desolate  garden,  there  was 
visible  evidence  of  more  kindness.  Perhaps  the 
world  was  not  wholly  a  place  of  grief  and  tears. 
Out  there  among  the  weeds  a  man  laboured 
cheerfully  —  a  man  of  whom  she  had  no  know 
ledge  and  upon  whom  she  had  no  claim. 


114 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


He  sang  and  whistled  as  he  strove  mightily 
with  the  weeds.  Now  and  then,  he  sharpened 
his  scythe  with  his  whetstone  and  attacked  the 
dense  undergrowth  with  yet  more  vigour.  The 
little  yellow  mongrel  capered  joyfully  and  un 
ceasingly,  affecting  to  hide  amidst  the  mass  of 
rubbish,  scrambling  out  with  sharp,  eager 
barks  when  his  master  playfully  buried  him, 
and  retreating  hastily  before  the  oncoming 
scythe. 

Miss  Evelina  could  not  hear,  but  she  knew 
that  the  man  was  talking  to  the  dog  in  the 
pauses  of  his  whistling.  She  knew  also  that  the 
dog  liked  it,  even  if  he  did  not  understand.  She 
observed  that  the  dog  was  not  beautiful — could 
not  be  called  so  by  any  stretch  of  the  imagina 
tion — and  yet  the  man  talked  to  him,  made  a 
friend  of  him,  loved  him. 

At  noon,  the  Piper  laid  down  his  scythe, 
clambered  up  on  the  crumbling  stone  wall,  and 
ate  his  bread  and  cheese,  while  the  dog  nibbled 
at  his  bone.  From  behind  a  shutter  in  an  upper 
room,  Miss  Evelina  noted  that  the  dog  also  had 
bread  and  cheese,  sharing  equally  with  his 
master. 

The  Piper  went  to  the  well,  near  the  kitchen 
door,  and  drank  copiously  of  the  cool,  clear 


piper  Uom  «s 


water  from  his  silver  cup.  Then  he  went  back 
to  work  again. 

Out  in  the  road,  the  rubbish  accumulated. 
When  the  Piper  stood  behind  it,  Miss  Evelina 
could  barely  see  the  tip  of  the  red  feather  that 
bobbed  rakishly  in  his  hat.  Once  he  disap 
peared,  leaving  the  dog  to  keep  a  reluctant 
guard  over  the  spade  and  scythe.  When  he 
came  back,  he  had  a  rake  and  a  large  bas 
ket,  which  made  the  collection  of  rubbish 
easier. 

Safe  in  her  house,  Miss  Evelina  watched  him 
idly.  Her  thought  was  taken  from  herself  for 
the  first  time  in  all  the  five-and-twenty  years. 
She  contemplated  anew  the  willing  service  of 
Miss  Mehitable,  who  asked  nothing  of  her  ex 
cept  the  privilege  of  leaving  daily  sustenance 
at  her  barred  and  forbidding  door.  "Truly," 
said  Miss  Evelina  to  herself,  "  it  is  a  strange 
world/' 

The  personality  of  the  Piper  affected  her  in  a 
way  she  could  not  analyse.  He  did  not  attract 
her,  neither  was  he  wholly  repellent.  She  did 
not  feel  friendly  toward  him,  yet  she  could  not 
turn  wholly  aside.  There  had  been  something 
strangely  alluring  in  his  music,  which  haunted 
her  even  now,  though  she  resented  his  making 


u6 


H  Spinner  in  tfre  Sun 


pfpcr 
Uom 


game  of  her  and  leading  her  through  the  woods 
as  he  had. 

Over  and  above  and  beyond  all,  she  remem 
bered  the  encounter  upon  the  road,  always  with 
a  keen,  remorseless  pain  which  cut  at  her  heart 
like  a  knife.  Miss  Evelina  thought  she  was 
familiar  with  knives,  but  this  one  hurt  in  a  new 
way  and  cut,  seemingly,  at  a  place  which  had 
not  been  touched  before. 

Since  the  "white  night"  which  had  turned 
her  hair  to  lustreless  snow,  nothing  had  hurt 
her  so  much.  Her  coming  to  the  empty  house, 
driven,  as  she  was,  by  poverty — entering  alone 
into  a  tomb  of  memories  and  dead  happiness, 
— had  not  stabbed  so  deeply  or  so  surely.  She 
saw  herself  first  on  one  peak  and  then  on  an 
other,  a  valley  of  humiliation  and  suffering  be 
tween  which  it  had  taken  twenty-five  years  to 
cross.  From  the  greatest  hurt  at  the  beginning 
to  the  greatest  hurt  — at  the  end?  Miss  Evelina 
started  from  her  chair,  her  hands  upon  her 
leaping  heart.  The  end?  Ah,  dear  God,  no! 
There  was  no  end  to  grief  like  hers! 

Insistently,  through  her  memory,  sounded 
the  pipes  o'  Pan — the  wild,  sweet,  tremulous 
strain  which  had  led  her  away  from  the  road 
where  she  had  been  splashed  with  the  mud  from 


Anthony  Dexter's  carriage  wheels.  The  man 
with  the  red  feather  in  his  hat  had  called  her, 
and  she  had  come.  Now  he  was  digging  in  her 
garden,  making  the  desolate  place  clean,  if  not 
cheerful. 

Conscious  of  an  unfamiliar  detachment,  Miss 
Evelina  settled  herself  to  think.  The  first  hurt 
and  the  long  pain  which  followed  it,  the  blurred 
agony  of  remembrance  when  she  had  come 
back  to  the  empty  house,  then  the  sharp,  clean- 
cut  stroke  when  she  stood  on  the  road,  her 
eyes  downcast,  and  heard  the  wheels  rush 
by,  then  clear  and  challenging,  the  pipes  o' 
Pan. 

"  '  There  is  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends/  " 
she  thought,  "  'rough-hew  them  how  we  may/  " 
Where  had  she  heard  that  before?  She  remem 
bered,  now — it  was  a  favourite  quotation  of 
Anthony  Dexter's. 

Her  lip  curled  scornfully.  Was  she  never  to 
be  free  from  Anthony  Dexter?  Was  she  always 
to  be  confronted  with  his  cowardice,  his  shirk 
ing,  his  spoken  and  written  thoughts?  Was  she 
always  to  see  his  face  as  she  had  seen  it  last,  his 
great  love  for  her  shining  in  his  eyes  for  all  the 
world  to  read?  Was  she  to  see  forever  his 
pearl  necklace,  discoloured,  snaky,  and  cold, 


n8 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


fifpCt 

as  meaningless  as  the  yellow  slip  of  paper  that 
had  come  with  it  ? 

Where  was  the  divinity  that  had  shaped  her 
course  hither  ?  Why  had  she  been  driven  back 
to  the  place  of  her  crucifixion,  to  stand  veiled 
in  the  road  while  he  drove  by  and  splashed  her 
with  mud  from  his  wheels  ? 

Out  in  the  garden,  the  Piper  still  strove  with 
the  weeds.  He  had  the  place  nearly  half  cleared 
now.  The  space  on  the  other  side  of  the  house 
was,  as  yet,  untouched,  and  the  trees  and 
shrubbery  all  needed  trimming.  The  wall  was 
broken  in  places,  earth  had  drifted  upon  it, 
and  grass  and  weeds  had  taken  root  in  the 
crevices. 

Upon  one  side  of  the  house,  nearly  all  of  the 
bare  earth  had  been  raked  clean.  He  was  on 
the  western  slope,  now,  where  the  splendid 
poppies  had  once  grown.  Pausing  in  his  whis 
tling,  the  Piper  stooped  and  picked  up  some 
small  object.  Miss  Evelina  cowered  behind  her 
shielding  shutters,  for  she  guessed  that  he  had 
found  the  empty  vial  which  had  contained 
laudanum. 

The  Piper  sniffed  twice  at  the  bottle.  His 
scent  was  as  keen  as  a  hunting  dog's.  Then  he 
glanced  quickly  toward  the  house  where  Miss 


piper  Horn  II9 


Evelina,  unveiled,  shrank  back  into  the  far 
thest  corner  of  an  upper  room. 

He  walked  to  the  gate,  no  longer  whistling, 
and  slowly,  thoughtfully,  buried  it  deep  in  the 
rubbish.  Could  Miss  Evelina  have  seen  his  face, 
she  would  have  marvelled  at  the  tenderness 
which  transfigured  it  and  wondered  at  the  mist 
that  veiled  his  eyes. 

He  stood  at  the  gate  for  a  long  time,  leaning 
on  his  scythe,  his  back  to  the  house.  In  sym 
pathy  with  his  master's  mood,  the  dog  was 
quiet,  and  merely  nosed  about  among  the 
rubbish.  By  a  flash  of  intuition,  Miss  Evelina 
knew  that  the  finding  of  the  bottle  had  made 
clear  to  the  Piper  much  that  he  had  not  known 
before. 

She  felt  herself  an  open  book  before  those 
kind,  keen  eyes,  which  neither  sought  nor 
avoided  her  veiled  face.  All  the  sorrow  and  the 
secret  suffering  would  be  his,  if  he  chose  to 
read  it.  Miss  Evelina  knew  that  she  must  keep 
away. 

The  sun  set  without  splendour.  Still  the 
Piper  stood  there,  leaning  on  his  scythe,  think 
ing.  All  the  rubbish  in  the  garden  was  old,  ex 
cept  the  empty  laudanum  bottle.  The  label 
was  still  legible,  and  also  the  warning  word, 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


piper       «  Poison."     She  had  put  it  there  herself—  he 
Uom 

had  no  doubt  of  that. 

The  dog  whined  and  licked  his  master's  hand, 
as  though  to  say  it  was  time  to  go  home.  At 
length  the  Piper  roused  himself  and  gathered 
up  his  tools.  He  carried  them  to  a  shed  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  Miss  Evelina,  watching, 
knew  that  he  was  coming  back  to  finish  his 
self-appointed  task. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Piper,  "we  '11  be  going.  T  is 
not  needful  to  bark/' 

He  went  down-hill  slowly,  the  little  dog 
trotting  beside  him  and  occasionally  licking  his 
hand.  They  went  into  the  shop,  the  door  of 
which  was  still  propped  open.  The  Piper  built 
a  fire,  removed  his  coat  and  hat,  took  off  his 
leggings,  cleaned  his  boots,  and  washed  his 
hands. 

Then,  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  it  was  sup 
per-time,  he  sat  down.  The  dog  sat  down,  too, 
pressing  hard  against  him.  The  Piper  took  the 
dog's  head  between  his  hands  and  looked  long 
into  the  loving,  eager  eyes. 

"  She  will  be  very  beautiful,  Laddie,"  he 
sighed,  at  length,  "very  beautiful  and  very 
brave." 


IX 

1bou0ecleanincj 

HPHE  brisk,  steady  tap  sounded  at  Miss 
1  Evelina's  door.  It  was  a  little  after 
eight,  and  she  opened  it,  expecting  to  find  her 
breakfast,  as  usual.  Much  to  her  surprise,  Miss 
Mehitable  stood  there,  armed  with  a  pail,  mop, 
and  broom.  Behind  her,  shy  and  frightened, 
was  Araminta,  similarly  equipped. 

The  Reverend  Austin  Thorpe,  having  carried 
a  step-ladder  to  the  back  door,  had  then  been 
abruptly  dismissed.  Under  the  handle  of  her 
scrubbing  pail,  the  ministering  angel  had 
slipped  the  tray  containing  Miss  Evelina's 
breakfast. 

"  I  've  slopped  it  over  some,"  she  said:  in 
explanation,  "but  you  won't  mind  that.  Some 
way,  I  've  never  had  hands  enough  to  do  what 
I  've  had  to  do.  Most  of  the  work  in  the  world 
is  slid  onto  women,  and  then,  as  if  that  was  n't 


121 


Ibouse* 

cleaning 


122 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


cleaning 


enough,  they  're  given  skirts  to  hold  up,  too. 
Seems  to  me  that  if  the  Almighty  had  meant 
for  women  to  be  carrying  skirts  all  their  lives, 
He  'd  have  give  us  another  hand  and  elbow 
in  our  backs,  like  a  jinted  stove-pipe,  for  the 
purpose.  Not  having  the  extra  hand,  I  go  short 
on  skirts  when  I  'm  cleaning." 

Miss  Mehitable's  clean,  crisp,  calico  gown 
ceased  abruptly  at  her  ankles.  Araminta's  blue 
and  white  gingham  was  of  a  similar  length,  and 
her  sleeves,  guiltless  of  ruffles,  came  only  to  her 
dimpled  elbows.  Araminta  was  trying  hard  not 
to  stare  at  Miss  Evelina's  veil  while  Aunt  Hitty 
talked. 

"We  've  come,"  asserted  Miss  Mehitable,  "to 
clean  your  house.  We  've  cleaned  our  own  and 
we  ain't  tired  yet,  so  we  're  going  to  do  some 
scrubbing  here.  I  guess  it  needs  it." 

Miss  Evelina  was  reminded  of  the  Piper,  who 
was  digging  in  her  garden  because  he  had  no 
garden  of  his  own.  "  I  can't  let  you,"  she  said, 
hesitating  over  the  words.  "You  're  too  kind 
to  me,  and  I  'm  going  to  do  my  cleaning 
myself." 

"  Fiddlesticks!"  snorted  Miss  Hitty,  brushing 
Miss  Evelina  from  her  path  and  marching 
triumphantly  in.  "You  ain't  strong  enough  to 


Ibousecleaning 


123 


do  cleaning.  You  just  set  down  and  eat  your 
breakfast.  Me  and  Minty  will  begin  upstairs." 

In  obedience  to  a  gesture  from  her  aunt, 
Araminta  crept  upstairs.  The  house  had  not 
yet  taken  on  a  habitable  look,  and  as  she  stood 
in  the  large  front  room,  deep  in  dust  and 
draped  with  cobwebs,  she  was  afraid. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Mehitable  had  built  a  fire  in 
the  kitchen  stove,  put  kettles  of  water  on  to 
heat,  stretched  a  line  across  the  yard,  and 
brought  in  the  step-ladder.  Miss  Evelina  sat 
quietly,  and  apparently  took  no  notice  of  the 
stir  that  was  going  on  about  her.  She  had  not 
touched  her  breakfast. 

"Why  don't  you  eat?"  inquired  Miss  Hitty, 
not  unkindly. 

"  I  'm  not  hungry,"  icturned  Miss  Evelina, 
timidly. 

"Well,"  answered  Miss  Mehitable,  her  per 
ception  having  acted  in  the  interval,  "  I  don't 
wonder  you  ain't,  with  all  this  racket  goin'  on. 
I  '11  be  out  of  here  in  a  minute  and  then  you  can 
set  here,  nice  and  quiet,  and  eat.  I  never  like 
to  eat  when  there  's  anything  else  going  on 
around  me.  It  drives  me  crazy." 

True  to  her  word,  she  soon  ascended  the 
stairs,  where  the  quaking  Araminta  awaited 


cleaning 


I24 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


nen    "  It  '11  take  some  time  for  the  water  to 

cleaning 

heat,"  observed  Miss  Hitty,  "  but  there  's 
plenty  to  do  before  we  get  to  scrubbing.  Re 
member  what  I  've  told  you,  Minty.  The  first 
step  in  cleaning  a  room  is  to  take  out  of  it  every 
thing  that  ain't  nailed  to  it." 

Every  window  was  opened  to  its  highest 
point.  Some  were  difficult  to  move,  but  with 
the  aid  of  Araminta's  strong  young  arms,  they 
eventually  went  up  as  desired.  From  the  win 
dows  descended  torrents  of  bedding,  rugs,  and 
curtains,  a  veritable  dust  storm  being  raised  in 
the  process. 

"When  I  go  down  after  the  hot  water,  I  '11 
hang  these  things  on  the  line,"  said  Miss  Mehit- 
able,  briskly.  "They  can't  get  any  dustier  on 
the  ground  than  they  are  now." 

The  curtains  were  so  frail  that  they  fell  apart 
in  Miss  Hitty's  hands.  "  You  can  make  her 
some  new  ones,  Minty,"  she  said.  "  She  can  get 
some  muslin  at  Mis'  Allen's,  and  you  can  sew  on 
curtains  for  a  while  instead  of  quilts.  It  '11  be 
a  change." 

None  too  carefully,  Miss  Mehitable  tore  up 
the  rag  carpet  and  threw  it  out  of  the  window, 
sneezing  violently.  "There  's  considerable  less 
dirt  here  already  than  there  was  when  we 


1foousecleanfn0 


125 


come/'  she  continued,  " though  we  ain't  done 
any  real  cleaning  yet.  She  can't  never  put  that 
carpet  down  again,  it  's  too  weak.  We  '11  get  a 
bucket  of  paint  and  paint  the  floors.  I  guess 
Sarah  Grey  had  plenty  of  rugs.  She  's  got  a  lot 
of  rag  carpeting  put  away  in  the  attic  if  the 
moths  ain't  ate  it,  and,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  I 
believe  she  packed  it  into  the  cedar  chest. 
Anyway  I  advised  her  to.  'It  '11  come  handy/ 
I  told  her,  'for  Evelina,  if  you  don't  live  to  use 
it  yourself/  So  if  the  moths  ain't  got  the  good 
of  it,  there  's  carpet  that  can  be  made  into  rugs 
with  some  fringe  on  the  ends.  I  always  did  like 
the  smell  of  fresh  paint,  anyhow.  There  's 
nothin'  you  can  put  into  a  house  that  '11  make 
it  smell  as  fresh  and  clean  as  paint.  Varnish  is 
good,  too,  but  it  's  more  expensive.  I  '11  go 
down  now,  and  get  the  hot  water  and  the  ladder. 
I  reckon  she  's  through  with  her  breakfast  by 
this  time." 

Miss  Evelina  had  finished  her  breakfast,  as 
the  empty  tray  proved.  She  sat  listlessly  in  her 
chair  and  the  water  on  the  stove  was  boiling 
over. 

"My  sakes,  Evelina,"  cried  Miss  Hitty, 
sharply,  "I  should  think  you  Jd — I  should 
think  you'd  hear  the  water  fallin'on  the  stove," 


fbouae* 
clcamna 


126 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


cleaning 


she  concluded,  lamely.  It  was  impossible  to 
scold  her  as  she  would  have  scolded  Araminta. 

"I  'm  goin'  out  now  to  put  things  on  the 
line,"  continued  Miss  Hitty.  "When  I  get 
Minty  started  to  cleanin',  I  '11  come  down  and 
beat." 

Miss  Evelina  made  no  response.  She  watched 
her  brisk  neighbour  wearily,  without  interest, 
as  she  hurried  about  the  yard,  dragging 
mattresses  into  the  sunlight,  hanging  musty 
bedding  on  the  line,  and  carrying  the  worn 
curtains  to  the  mountain  of  rubbish  which  the 
Piper  had  reared  in  front  of  the  house. 

"That  creeter  with  the  red  feather  can  clean 
the  yard  if  he  's  a  mind  to,"  mused  Miss  Hitty, 
who  was  fully  conversant  with  the  Piper's  work, 
"but  he  can't  clean  the  house.  I  'm  going  to  do 
that  myself." 

She  went  in  and  was  presently  in  her  element. 
The  smell  of  yellow  soap  was  as  sweet  incense 
in  the  nostrils  of  Miss  Hitty,  and  the  sound  of 
the  scrubbing  brush  was  melodious  in  her  ears. 
She  brushed  down  the  walls  with  a  flannel 
cloth  tied  over  a  broom,  washed  the  windows, 
scrubbed  every  inch  of  the  woodwork,  and 
prepared  the  floor  for  its  destined  coat  of 
paint. 


Ibousecleanlno 


127 


Then  she  sent  Araminta  into  the  next  room  .-leaning 
with  the  ladder,  and  began  on  the  furniture. 
This,  too,  was  thoroughly  scrubbed,  and  as 
much  paint  and  varnish  as  would  come  off  was 
allowed  to  come.  "It  '11  have  to  be  painted/' 
thought  Miss  Hitty,  scrubbing  happily,  "but 
when  it  is  painted,  it  '11  be  clean  underneath, 
and  that 's  more  than  it  has  been.  Evelina  '11 
sleep  clean  to-night  for  the  first  time  since  she 
come  here.  There  's  a  year's  washin'  to  be  done 
in  this  house  and  before  I  get  round  to  that,  I  '11 
lend  her  some  of  my  clean  sheets  and  a  quilt  or 
two  of  Minty's." 

Adjourning  to  the  back  yard,  Miss  Mehitable 
energetically  beat  a  mattress  until  no  more 
dust  rose  from  it.  With  Araminta's  aid  she 
carried  it  upstairs  and  put  it  in  place.  "I  'm 
goin'  home  now  after  my  dinner  and  Evelina's," 
said  Miss  Hitty,  '  'and  when  I  come  back  I  '11 
bring  sheets  and  quilts  for  this.  You  clean  till 
I  come  back,  and  then  you  can  go  home  for 
your  own  lunch." 

Araminta  assented  and  continued  her  work. 
She  never  questioned  her  aunt's  dictates,  and 
this  was  why  there  was  no  friction  between  the 
two. 

When  Miss  Mehitable  came  back,  however, 


128 


H  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


IbOUSCa 

cleaning 


half  buried  under  the  mountain  of  bedding,  she 
was  greeted  by  a  portentous  silence.  Hurrying 
upstairs,  she  discovered  that  Araminta  had 
fallen  from  the  ladder  and  was  in  a  white  and 
helpless  heap  on  the  floor,  while  Miss  Evelina 
chafed  her  hands  and  sprinkled  her  face  with 
water. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  cried  Miss  Hitty. 
"What  possessed  Minty  to  go  and  fall  off  the 
ladder!  Help  me  pick  her  up,  Evelina,  and 
we  '11  lay  her  on  the  bed  in  the  room  we  've 
just  cleaned.  She  '11  come  to  presently.  She 
ain't  hurt." 

But  Araminta  did  not  "come  to."  Miss 
Mehitable  tried  everything  she  could  think  of, 
and  fairly  drenched  the  girl  with  cold  water, 
without  avail. 

"What  did  it?"  she  demanded  with  some 
asperity.  "Did  she  see  anything  that  scared 
her?" 

"  No,"  answered  Miss  Evelina,  shrinking 
farther  back  into  her  veil.  "I  was  downstairs 
and  heard  her  scream,  then  she  fell  and  I  ran 
up.  It  was  just  a  minute  or  two  before  you 
came  in." 

"Well,"  sighed  Miss  Hitty,  "I  suppose  we  '11 
have  to  have  a  doctor.  You  fix  that  bed  with 


Ibousecleanina 


the  clean  things  I  brought.  It 's  easy  to  do  it 
without  movin'  her  after  the  under  sheet  is  on 
and  I  '11  help  you  with  that.  Don't  pour  any 
more  cold  water  on  her.  If  water  would  have 
brung  her  to  she  'd  be  settin'  up  by  now.  And 
don't  get  scared.  Minty  ain't  hurt." 

With  this  comforting  assurance,  Miss  Hitty 
sped  down-stairs,  but  her  mind  was  far  from  at 
rest.  At  the  gate  she  stopped,  suddenly  con 
fronted  by  the  fact  that  she  could  not  bring 
Anthony  Dexter  to  Evelina's  house. 

"What  '11  I  do!"  moaned  Miss  Hitty. 
"What  '11 1  do !  Minty  '11  die  if  she  ain't  dead  now ! 

The  tears  rolled  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks, 
but  she  ran  on,  as  fast  as  her  feet  would  carry 
her,  toward  Doctor  Dexter's.  "  The  way  '11  be 
opened,"  she  thought — "I  'm  sure  it  will." 

The  way  was  opened  in  an  unexpected 
fashion,  for  Doctor  Ralph  Dexter  answered 
Miss  Hitty's  frantic  ring  at  his  door. 

"I  'd  clean  forgotten  you,"  she  stammered, 
wholly  taken  aback.  "I  don't  believe  you  're 
anything  but  a  play  doctor,  but,  as  things  is,  I 
reckon  you  '11  have  to  do." 

Doctor  Ralph  Dexter  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed — a  clear,  ringing  boyish  laugh 
which  was  very  good  to  hear. 


130 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"  'Play  doctor'  is  good,"  he  said,  "when  any 
body  's  worked  as  much  like  a  yellow  dog  as  I 
have.  Anyhow,  I  '11  have  to  do,  for  father  's 
not  at  home.  Who's  dead?" 

"It  's  Araminta,"  explained  Miss  Hitty,  al 
ready  greatly  relieved.  "  She  fell  off  a  step- 
ladder  and  ain't  come  to  yet." 

Doctor  Ralph's  face  grew  grave.  "  Wait  a 
minute."  He  went  into  the  office  and  returned 
almost  immediately.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
the  doctor's  carriage  was  at  the  door,  waiting 
for  a  hurry  call. 

"Jump  in,"  commanded  Doctor  Ralph. 
"You  can  tell  me  about  it  on  the  way.  Where 
do  we  go?" 

Miss  Hitty  issued  directions  to  the  driver  and 
climbed  in.  In  spite  of  her  trouble,  she  was  not 
insensible  of  the  comfort  of  the  cushions  nor 
the  comparative  luxury  of  the  conveyance. 
She  was  also  mindful  of  the  excitement  her 
presence  in  the  doctor's  carriage  produced  in 
her  acquaintances  as  they  rushed  past. 

By  dint  of  much  questioning,  Doctor  Ralph 
obtained  a  full  account  of  the  accident,  all 
immaterial  circumstances  being  brutally  elim 
inated  as  they  cropped  up  in  the  course  of  her 
speech.  "It  's  God's  own  mercy,"  said  Miss 


Ibousecleanina 


Hitty,  as  they  stopped  at  the  gate,  "that  we  'd      c*°aunsfenag 
cleaned  that  room.    We  could  n't  have  got  it 
any  cleaner  if  't  was  for  a  layin'  out  instead  of 
a  sickness.    Oh,  Ralph,"  she  pleaded,  "don't  let 
Mintydie!" 

"Hush!"  said  Doctor  Ralph,  sternly.  He 
spoke  with  an  authority  new  to  Miss  Hitty,  who, 
in  earlier  days,  had  been  wont  to  drive  Ralph 
out  of  her  incipient  orchard  with  a  bed  slat, 
sharpened  at  one  end  into  a  formidable  weapon 
of  offence. 

Araminta  was  still  unconscious,  but  she  was 
undressed,  and  in  bed,  clad  in  one  of  Miss 
Evelina's  dainty  but  yellowed  nightgowns. 
Doctor  Ralph  worked  with  incredible  quickness 
and  Miss  Hitty  watched  him,  wondering, 
frightened,  yet  with  a  certain  sneaking  con 
fidence  in  him. 

"Fracture  of  the  ankle,"<r  he  announced, 
briefly,  "and  one  or  two  bad  bruises.  Plaster 
cast  and  no  moving." 

WherT  Araminta  returned '  to  consciousness, 
she  thought  she  was  dead  and  had  gone  to 
Heaven.  The  room  was  heavy  with  soothing 
antiseptic  odours;  and  she'  seemed  to  be  sus 
pended  in  a  vapoury  cloud.;  On  the  edge  of  the 
cloud  hovered  Miss  Evelina,  veiled,  and  Aunt 


132 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


cleaning 


Hltty,  who  was  most  assuredly  crying.  There 
was  a  stranger,  too,  and  Araminta  gazed  at  him 
questioningly. 

Doctor  Ralph's  hand,  firm  and  cool,  closed 
over  hers.  "Don't  you  remember  me,  Ara 
minta?"  he  asked,  much  as  one  would  speak  to 
a  child.  "The  last  time  I  saw  you,  you  were 
hanging  out  a  basket  of  clothes.  The  grass  was 
very  green  and  the  sky  was  a  bright  blue,  and 
the  petals  of  apple  blossoms  were  drifting  all 
round  your  feet.  I  called  to  you,  and  you  ran 
into  the  house.  Now  I  've  got  you  where  you 
can't  get  away." 

Araminta's  pale  cheeks  flushed.  She  looked 
pleadingly  at  Aunt  Hitty,  who  had  always 
valiantly  defended  her  from  the  encroachments 
of  boys  and  men. 

"You  come  downstairs  with  me,  Ralph 
Dexter,"  commanded  Aunt  Hitty.  "I  've  got 
some  talking  to  do  to  you.  Evelina,  you  set 
here  with  Araminta  till  I  get  back." 

Miss  Evelina  drew  a  damp,  freshly  scrubbed 
chair  to  the  bedside.  "  I  fell  off  the  step-ladder, 
did  n't  I?"  asked  Araminta,  vaguely. 

"Yes,  dear."  Miss  Evelina's  voice  was  very 
low  and  sweet.  "  You  fell,  but  you  're  all  right 
now.  You  're  going  to  stay  here  until  you  get 


Ibousecieanino  133 


well.   Aunt  Hitty  and  I  are  going  to  take  care 

J  cleaning 

of  you." 

In  the  cob  webbed  parlour,  meanwhile, 
Doctor  Ralph  was  in  the  hands  of  the  attor 
ney  for  the  prosecution,  who  questioned  him 
ceaselessly. 

"What 's  wrong  with  Minty?" 

"Broken  ankle." 

"How  did  it  happen  to  get  broke?"  de 
manded  Miss  Hitty,  with  harshness.  "I  never 
knew  an  ankle  to  get  broke  by  falling  off  a 
ladder." 

"Any  ankle  will  break,"  temporised  Dr. 
Ralph,  "if  it  is  hurt  at  the  right  point." 

"I  wish  I  could  have  had  your  father." 

"Father  was  n't  there,"  returned  Ralph, 
secretly  amused.  "You  had  to  take  me." 

Miss  Hitty's  face  softened.  There  were  other 
reasons  why  she  could  not  have  had  Ralph's 
father. 

"When  can  Minty  go  home?" 

"Minty  can't  go  home  until  she  's  well. 
She  's  got  to  stay  right  here." 

"If  she  'd  fell  in  the  yard,"  asked  Miss  Hitty, 
peering  keenly  at  him  over  her  spectacles, 
"would  she  have  had  to  stay  in  the  yard  till 
she  got  well?" 


134  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

Douse.  The  merest  suspicion  of  a  dimple  crept  into 
the  corner  of  Doctor  Ralph's  mouth.  His  eyes 
danced,  but  otherwise  his  face  was  very  grave. 
"She  would,"  he  said,  in  his  best  professional 
manner.  "A  shed  would  have  had  to  be  built 
over  her."  He  fancied  that  Miss  Hitty's  con 
stant  presence  might  prove  disastrous  to  a 
nervous  patient.  He  liked  the  quiet,  veiled 
woman,  who  obeyed  his  orders  without 
question. 

"How  much,"  demanded  Miss  Mehitable, 
4 'is  it  going  to  cost?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Ralph,  honestly. 
"I  '11  have  to  come  every  day  for  a  long  time — 
perhaps  twice  a  day,"  he  added,  remembering 
the  curve  of  Araminta's  cheek  and  her  long, 
dark  lashes. 

Miss  Hitty  made  an  indescribable  sound. 
Pain,  fear,  disbelief,  and  contempt  were  all 
mingled  in  it. 

"Don't  worry,"  said  Ralph,  kindly.  "You 
know  doctoring  sometimes  comes  by  whole 
sale." 

Miss  Hitty's  relief  was  instantaneous  and 
evident.  "There  's  regular  prices,  I  suppose," 
she  said.  "  Broken  toe,  broken  ankle,  broken 
leg — each  one  so  much.  Is  that  it?" 


Ibousecleantno 


135 


Doctor  Ralph  was  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of 
coughing. 

"How  much  is  ankles?"  demanded  his 
inquisitor. 

"I  '11  leave  that  all  to  you,  Miss  Hitty," 
said  Ralph,  when  he  recovered  his  composure. 
"You  can  pay  me  whatever  you  think  is  right." 

"I  shouldn't  pay  you  anything  I  didn't 
think  was  right,"  she  returned,  sharply,  "unless 
I  was  made  to  by  law.  As  long  as  you  've  got 
to  come  every  day  for  a  spell,  and  mebbe  twice, 
I  '11  give  you  five  dollars  the  day  Minty  walks 
again.  If  that  won't  do,  I  '11  get  the  doctor 
over  to  the  Ridge." 

Doctor  Ralph  coughed  so  hard  that  he  was 
obliged  to  cover  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 
"I  should  think,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "that  if 
you  were  as  good  a  doctor  as  you  pretend  to  be, 
you  'd  cure  your  own  coughin'  spells.  First 
thing  you  know,  you  '11  be  running  into  quick 
consumption.  Will  five  dollars  do?" 

Ralph  bowed,  but  his  face  was  very  red  and 
he  appeared  to  be  struggling  with  some  secret 
emotion.  "I  could  n't  think  of  taking  as  much 
as  five  dollars,  Miss  Hitty,"  he  said,  gallantly. 
"I  should  not  have  ventured  to  suggest  over 
four  and  a  half." 


,  cleaning 


136 


B  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Douses 
cleaning 


"He  's  cheaper  than  his  father,"  thought 
Miss  Hitty,  quickly  suspicious.  "That 's  be 
cause  he  ain't  as  good  a  doctor/' 

"Four  and  a  half,  then,"  she  said  aloud.  "Is 
it  a  bargain?" 

"It  is,"  said  Ralph,  "and  I  '11  take  the  best 
possible  care  of  Araminta.  Shake  hands  on 
it."  He  went  out,  his  shoulders  shaking 
with  suppressed  merriment,  and  Miss  Hitty 
watched  him  through  the  grimy  front  window. 

"Seems  sort  of  decent,"  she  thought,  "and 
not  too  grasping.  He  might  be  real  nice  if  he 
was  n't  a  man." 


X 

IRalpb's  jfirst  Case 

"CATHER,"   said  Ralph  at  breakfast,  "I 
1        got  my  first  case  yesterday." 
Anthony  Dexter  smiled  at  the  tall,  straight 
young  fellow  who  sat  opposite  him.   He  did  not 
care  about  the  case  but  he  found  endless  satis 
faction  in  Ralph. 

"What  was  it?"  he  asked,  idly. 
"Broken  ankle.    I  only  happened  to  get  it 
because  you  were  out.     I  was  accused  of  being 
a  'play  doctor,'  but,  under  the  circumstances, 
I  had  to  do." 

"Miss  Mehitable?"  queried  Doctor  Dexter, 
with  lifted  brows.  "I  would  n't  have  thought 
her  ankles  could  be  broken  by  anything  short  of 
machinery." 

"Guess  they  couldn't/'  laughed  Ralph. 
"Anyhow,  they  were  all  right  at  last  accounts. 
It 's  Araminta — the  pretty  little  thing  who 
lives  with  the  dragon." 


137 


fffrst 

Case 


138 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TCalpb's 
ffirst 

Case 


"Oh!"  There  was  the  merest  shade  of  ten 
derness  in  the  exclamation.  "How  did  it 
happen?" 

"Divesting  the  circumstance  of  all  irrelevant 
material,"  returned  Ralph,  reaching  for  another 
crisp  roll,  "it  was  like  this.  With  true  mission 
ary  spirit  and  in  the  belief  that  cleanliness  is 
closely  related  to  godliness,  Miss  Mehitable 
determined  to  clean  the  old  house  on  the  hill. 
The  shack  has  been  empty  a  long  time,  but  now 
has  a  tenant — of  whom  more  anon. 

"Miss  Mehitable's  own  mansion,  it  seems, 
has  been  scrubbed  inside  and  out,  and  painted 
and  varnished  and  generally  torn  up,  even 
though  it  is  early  in  the  year  for  such  unholy 
doings.  Having  finished  her  own  premises,  and 
still  having  strength  in  her  elbow,  and  the 
housecleaning  microbe  being  yet  on  an  un 
checked  rampage  through  her  virtuous  system, 
and  there  being  some  soap  left,  Miss  Mehitable 
wanders  up  to  the  house  with  her  pail. 

"Shackled  to  her,  also  with  a  pail,  is  the  help 
less  Araminta.  Among  the  impedimenta  are 
the  Reverend  Austin  Thorpe  and  the  step- 
ladder,  the  Reverend  Thorpe  being  dismissed 
at  the  door  and  allowed  to  run  amuck  for  the 
day. 


IRalpb's  jflrst  Case 


;, .      I  - 


"The  Penates  are  duly  thrown  out  of  the 

ffirst 

windows,  the  veiled  chatelaine  sitting  by  mute 
and  helpless.  One  room  is  scrubbed  till  it  's 
so  clean  a  fly  would  fall  down  in  it,  and  the 
ministering  angel  goes  back  to  her  own  spotless 
residence  after  bedding.  I  believe  I  did  n't 
understand  exactly  why  she  went  after  the 
bedding,  but  I  can  doubtless  find  out  the  next 
time  I  see  Miss  Mehitable. 

"In  the  absence  of  the  superintendent, 
Araminta  seizes  the  opportunity  to  fall  off 
the  top  of  the  ladder,  lighting  on  her  ankle, 
and  fainting  most  completely  on  the  way 
down.  The  rest  is  history. 

"  Doctor  Dexter  being  out,  his  son,  perforce, 
has  to  serve.  The  ankle  being  duly  set  and  the 
excitement  allayed,  terms  are  made  in  private 
with  the  'play  doctor/  How  much,  Father,  do 
you  suppose  I  am  to  be  paid  the  day  Araminta 
walks  again?" 

Doctor  Dexter  dismissed  the  question. 
"Could  n't  guess,"  he  grunted. 

"Four  and  a  half,"  said  Ralph,  proudly. 

"Hundred?"  asked  Doctor  Dexter,  with  a 
gleam  of  interest.  "You  must  have  imbibed 
high  notions  at  college." 

"Hundred!"  shouted  Ralph,  "Heavens,  no! 


140 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Four  dollars  and  a  half!  Four  dollars  and  fifty 
case  cents,  marked  down  from  five  for  this  day  only. 
Special  remnant  sale  of  repaired  ankles!"  The 
boy  literally  doubled  himself  in  his  merriment. 

"You  bloated  bondholder,"  said  his  father, 
fondly.  "Don't  be  extravagant  with  it." 

"I  won't,"  returned  Ralph,  between  gasps. 
"I  thought  I  'd  put  some  of  it  into  unincum- 
bered  real  estate  and  loan  the  rest  on  good 
security  at  five  per  cent." 

Into  the  lonely  house  Ralph's  laughter  came 
like  the  embodied  spirit  of  Youth.  It  searched 
out  the  hidden  corners,  illuminated  the  shad 
ows,  stirred  the  silences  to  music.  A  sunbeam 
danced  on  the  stair,  where,  according  to 
Doctor  Dexter's  recollection,  no  sunbeam  had 
ever  dared  to  dance  before.  Ah,  it  was  good  to 
have  the  boy  at  home! 

"Miss  Mehitable,"  observed  Doctor  Dexter, 
after  a  pause,  "is  like  the  poor — always  with  us. 
I  seldom  get  to  a  patient  who  is  really  in  danger 
before  she  does.  She  seems  to  have  secret  wires 
stretched  all  over  the  country  and  she  has  the 
clinical  history  of  the  neighbourhood  at  her 
tongue's  end.  What  's  more,  she  distributes  it, 
continually,  painstakingly,  untiringly.  Every 
detail  of  every  case  I  have  charge  of  is  spread 


IRaipb's  ffirst  Case 


141 


broadcast,  by  Miss  Mehitable.  I  'd  have  a  bad 
reputation,  professionally,  if  so  much  about  my 
patients  was  generally  known  anywhere  else." 

"Is  she  a  good  nurse?"  asked  Ralph. 

"  According  to  her  light,  yes;  but  she  is  n't 
willing  to  work  on  recognised  lines.  She  '11 
dose  my  patients  with  roots  and  herbs  of  her 
own  concocting  if  she  gets  a  chance,  and 
proudly  claim  credit  for  the  cure.  If  the  pa 
tient  dies,  everybody  blames  me.  I  can't  sit 
by  a  case  of  measles  and  keep  Miss  Mehitable 
from  throwing  sassafras  tea  into  it  more  than 
ten  hours  at  a  stretch." 

"Why  don't  you  talk  to  her?"  queried 
Ralph. 

"  Talk  to  her!"  snorted  Doctor  Dexter.  "Do 
you  suppose  I  have  n't  ruptured  my  vocal  cords 
more  than  once?  I  might  just  as  well  put  my 
head  out  of  the  front  window  and  whisper  it  as 
to  talk  to  her." 

"She  won't  monkey  with  my  case,"  said 
Ralph.  His  mouth  was  firmly  set. 

"  Won't  she?"  parried  Doctor  Dexter,  sar 
castically.  "You  go  up  there  and  see  if  the  cast 
is  n't  off  and  the  fracture  being  fomented  with 
pennyroyal  tea  or  some  such  mess." 

"I  always  had  an  impression,"  said  Ralph, 


142 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ffirst 
Case 


thoughtfully,  "that  people  were  afraid  of  you." 

"They  are,"  grunted  Doctor  Dexter,  "but 
Miss  Mehitable  is  n't  'people.'  She  goes  by  her 
self,  and  is  n't  afraid  of  man  or  devil.  If  I  had 
horns  and  a  barbed  tail  and  breathed  smoke,  I 
could  n't  scare  her.  The  patient's  family,  being 
more  afraid  of  her  than  of  me,  invariably  give 
her  free  access  to  the  sick-room." 

"I  don't  want  her  to  worry  Araminta,"  said 
Ralph. 

"If  you  don't  want  Araminta  worried," 
replied  Doctor  Dexter,  conclusively,  "  you  'd 
better  put  a  few  things  into  your  suit  case, 
and  move  up  there  until  she  walks." 

"All  right,"  said  Ralph.  "I  'm  here  to  rout 
your  malign  influence.  It  's  me  to  sit  by 
Araminta's  crib  and  scare  the  old  girl  off.  I  '11 
bet  I  can  fix  her." 

"If  you  can,"  returned  Doctor  Dexter,  "you 
are  considerably  more  intelligent  than  I  take 
you  to  be." 

With  the  welfare  of  his  young  patient  very 
earnestly  at  heart,  Ralph  went  up  the  hill. 
Miss  Evelina  admitted  him,  and  Ralph  drew 
her  into  the  dusty  parlour.  "Can  you  take 
care  of  anybody?"  he  inquired,  without  pre 
liminary.  "  Can  you  follow  directions?  " 


IRaipb's  ff  irst  Case 


143 


I— think  so."  1 

"Then,"  Ralph  went  on,  "I  turn  Araminta 
over  to  you.  Miss  Mehitable  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case  from  this  moment.  Araminta  is 
in  your  care  and  mine.  You  take  directions 
from  me  and  from  nobody  else.  Do  you 
understand?" 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Miss  Evelina,  "  but  Mehit 
able  won't — won't  let  me." 

"  Won't  let  you  nothing,"  said  Ralph,  scorn 
fully.  "  She  's  to  be  kept  out." 

"  She — she — "  stammered  Miss  Evelina, 
"she  's  up  there  now." 

Ralph  started  upstairs.  Half-way  up,  he 
heard  the  murmur  of  voices,  and  went  up  more 
quietly.  He  stepped  lightly  along  the  hall  and 
stood  just  outside  Araminta's  door,  shame 
lessly  listening. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  said 
an  indignant  feminine  voice.  "  The  idea  of  a 
big  girl  like  you  not  bein'  able  to  stand  on  a 
ladder  without  fallin'  off.  It  's  your  mother's 
foolishness  cropping  out  in  you,  after  all  I  've 
done  for  you.  I  've  stood  on  ladders  all  my 
life  and  never  so  much  as  slipped.  I  believe 
you  did  it  a  purpose,  though  what  you  thought 
you  'd  get  for  doin'  it  puzzles  me  some.  P'raps 


144 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Valpb'0 
Jfirst 
Case 


you  thought  you  'd  get  out  of  the  housecleanin' 
but  you  won't.  When  it  comes  time  for  the  Fall 
cleanin/  you  '11  do  every  stroke  yourself,  to  pay 
for  all  this  trouble  and  expense.  Do  you  know 
what  it  's  costin'  ?  Four  dollars  and  a  half 
of  good  money!  I  should  think  you  'd  be 
ashamed!" 

"But,  Aunt  Hitty— "  began  the  girl, 
pleadingly. 

"Stop!  Don't  you  'Aunt  Hitty'  me,"  con 
tinued  the  angry  voice.  "You  need  n't  tell  me 
you  did  n't  fall  off  that  ladder  a  purpose.  Four 
dollars  and  a  half  and  all  the  trouble  besides! 
I  hope  you  '11  think  of  that  while  you  're  lay 
ing  here  like  a  lady  and  your  poor  old  aunt 
is  slavin'  for  you,workin'her  fingers  to  the  bone. 

"If  I  can  ever  get  the  four  dollars  and  a  half," 
cried  Araminta,  with  tears  in  her  voice,  "I  will 
give  it  back  to  you — oh,  indeed  I  will!' 

At  this  point,  Doctor  Ralph  Dexter  entered 
the  room,  his  eyes  snapping  dangerously. 

"  Miss  Mehitable,"  he  said  with  forced  calm 
ness,  "  will  you  kindly  come  downstairs  a  mo 
ment?  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

Dazed  and  startled,  Miss  Mehitable  rose 
from  her  chair  and  followed  him.  There  was  in 
Ralph's  voice  a  quality  which  literally  com- 


IRalpb's  Jfirst  Case 


145 


pelled  obedience.  He  drew  her  into  the  dusty 
parlour  and  closed  all  the  doors  carefully.  Miss 
Evelina  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  I  was  standing  in  the  hall/'  said  Ralph, 
coolly,  "and  I  heard  every  word  you  said  to 
that  poor,  helpless  child.  You  ought  to  know, 
if  you  know  anything  at  all,  that  nobody  ever 
fell  off  a  step-ladder  on  purpose.  She  's  hurt, 
and  she  's  badly  hurt,  and  she  's  not  in  any 
way  to  blame  for  it,  and  I  positively  forbid 
you  ever  to  enter  that  room  again." 

"Forbid!"  bristled  Aunt  Hitty.  "Who  are 
you?"  she  demanded  sarcastically,  "to  'forbid' 
me  from  nursing  my  own  niece!" 

"I  am  the  attending  physician,"  returned 
Ralph,  calmly.  "It  is  my  case,  and  nobody 
else  is  going  to  manage  it.  I  have  already  ar 
ranged  with — the  lady  who  lives  here — to  take 
care  of  Araminta,  and " 

"Arrange  no  such  thing,"  interrupted  Miss 
Hitty,  violently.  Her  temper  was  getting  away 
from  her. 

"One  moment,"  interrupted  Ralph.  "If  I 
hear  of  your  entering  that  room  again  before  I 
say  Araminta  is  cured,  I  will  charge  you  just 
exactly  one  hundred  dollars  for  my  services, 
and  collect  it  by  law." 


tRalpb' 
fffrst 
Case 


146  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

•Kaipb'8  Miss  Hitty's  lower  jaw  dropped,  her  strong 
case  body  shook.  She  gazed  at  Ralph  as  one  might 
look  at  an  intimate  friend  gone  suddenly  daft. 
She  had  heard  of  people  who  lost  their  reason 
without  warning.  Was  it  possible  that  she  was 
in  the  room  with  a  lunatic? 

She  edged  toward  the  door,  keeping  her  eyes 
on  Ralph. 

He  anticipated  her,  and  opened  it  with  a  po 
lite  flourish.  "  Remember,"  he  warned  her. 
"  One  step  into  Araminta's  room,  one  word  ad 
dressed  to  her,  and  it  costs  you  just  exactly 
one  hundred  dollars."  He  opened  the  other 
door  and  pointed  suggestively  down  the  hill. 
She  lost  no  time  in  obeying  the  gesture,  but 
scudded  down  the  road  as  though  His  Satanic 
Majesty  himself  was  in  her  wake. 

Ralph  laughed  to  himself  all  the  way  up 
stairs  but  in  the  hall  he  paused  and  his  face 
grew  grave  again.  From  Araminta's  room 
came  the  sound  of  sobbing 

She  did  not  see  him  enter,  for  her  face  was 
hidden  in  her  pillow.  "Araminta !"  said  Ralph, 
tenderly.  ' '  You  poor  child . ' ' 

Touched  by  the  unexpected  sympathy, 
Araminta  raised  her  head  to  look  at  him.  "  Oh 
Doctor — "  she  began. 


TRalpb's  first  Case 


147 


"  Doctor    Ralph,"    said     the    young  man, 


sitting  down  on  the  bed  beside  her.  "  My 
father  is  Doctor  Dexter  and  I  am  Doctor 
Ralph/' 

"  I  'm  ashamed  of  myself  for  being  such  a 
baby,"  sobbed  Araminta.  "I  did  n't  mean  to 
cry." 

"You  're  not  a  baby  at  all,"  said  Doctor 
Ralph,  soothingly,  taking  her  hot  hand  in  his. 
"  You  're  hurt,  and  you  've  been  bothered, 
and  if  you  want  to  cry,  you  can.  Here  's  my 
handkerchief." 

After  a  little,  her  sobs  ceased.  Doctor  Ralph 
still  sat  there,  regarding  her  with  a  sort  of 
questioning  tenderness  which  was  entirely 
outside  of  Araminta' s  brief  experience. 

"You  're  not  to  be  bothered  any  more,"  he 
said.  "I  've  seen  your  aunt,  and  she  's  not  to 
set  foot  in  this  room  again  until  you  get  well. 
If  she  even  speaks  to  you  from  the  hall,  you  're 
to  tell  me." 

Araminta  gazed  at  him,  wide-eyed  and 
troubled.  "  I  can't  take  care  of  myself,"  she 
said,  with  a  pathetic  little  smile. 

"  You  're  not  going  to.  The  lady  who  lives 
here  is  going  to  take  care  of  you." 

"  Miss  Evelina?  She  got  burned  because  she 


Case 


148 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ttatpb's 
ffirst 
Case 


was  bad  and  she  has  to  wear  a  veil  all  the  time." 

"  How  was  she  bad?"  asked  Ralph. 

"  I  don't  just  know,"  whispered  Araminta, 
cautiously.  "Aunt  Hitty  did  n't  know,  or  else 
she  would  n't  tell  me,  but  she  was  bad.  She 
went  to  a  man's  house.  She " 

Then  Araminta  remembered  that  it  was 
Doctor  Dexter's  house  to  which  Miss  Evelina 
had  gone.  In  shame  and  terror,  she  hid  her 
face  again. 

"I  don't  believe  anybody  ever  got  burned 
just  for  being  bad,"  Ralph  was  saying,  "but 
your  face  is  hot  and  I  'm  going  to  cool  it  for 
you." 

He  brought  a  bowl  of  cold  water,  and  with 
his  handkerchief  bathed  Araminta's  flushed 
face  and  her  hot  hands.  "  Does  n't  that  feel 
good?"  he  asked,  when  the  traces  of  tears  had 
been  practically  removed. 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Araminta,  gratefully,  "  but 
I  've  always  washed  my  own  face  before.  I  saw 
a  cat  once,"  she  continued.  "He  was  washing 
his  children's  faces." 

"Must  have  been  a  lady  cat,"  observed 
Ralph,  with  a  smile. 

"The  little  cats,"  pursued  Araminta,  "looked 
to  be  very  soft.  I  think  they  liked  it." 


IRaipb  0  fftest  Case 


149 


"They  are  soft,"  admitted  Ralph.  "  Don't 
you  think  so?" 

"  I  don't  know.   I  never  had  a  little  cat." 

"  Never  had  a  kitten?"  cried  Ralph.  "  You 
poor,  defrauded  child!  What  kind  of  a  kitten 
would  you  like  best?" 

"  A  little  grey  cat,"  said  Araminta,  seriously, 
"a  little  grey  cat  with  blue  eyes,  but  Aunt 
Hitty  would  never  let  me  have  one." 

"  See  here,"  said  Ralph.  "  Aunt  Hitty  is  n't 
running  this  show.  I  'm  stage  manager  and 
ticket  taker  and  advance  man  and  everything 
else,  all  rolled  into  one.  I  can't  promise  posi 
tively,  because  I  'm  not  posted  on  the  cat 
supply  around  here,  but  if  I  can  find  one,  you 
shall  have  a  grey  kitten  with  blue  eyes,  and  you 
shall  have  some  kind  of  a  kitten,  anyhow." 

"Oh!"  cried  Araminta,  her  eyes  shining. 
"Truly?" 

"  Truly,"  nodded  Ralph. 

"  Would — would — "  hesitated  Araminta — 
"  would  it  be  any  more  than  four  dollars  and  a 
half  if  you  brought  me  the  little  cat?  Because 
if  it  is,  I  can't " 

"It  wouldn't,"  interrupted  Ralph.  "On 
any  bill  over  a  dollar  and  a  quarter,  I  always 
throw  in  a  kitten.  Did  n't  you  know  that?" 


fRalpb's 
ffirst 

Case 


150 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"Kalpb's 

"  No,"  answered  Araminta,  with  a  happy 
little  laugh.  How  kind  he  was,  even  though  he 
was  a  man!  Perhaps,  if  he  knew  how  wicked 
her  mother  had  been,  he  would  not  be  so  kind 
to  her.  The  stern  Puritan  conscience  rose  up 
and  demanded  explanation. 

"  I — I — must  tell  you,"  she  said,  "before  you 
bring  me  the  little  cat.  My  mother — she — " 
here  Araminta  turned  her  crimson  face  away. 
She  swallowed  a  lump  in  her  throat,  then  said, 
bravely:  "My  mother  was  married!" 

Doctor  Ralph  Dexter  laughed — a  deep, 
hearty,  boyish  laugh  that  rang  cheerfully 
through  the  empty  house.  "  I  '11  tell  you 
something,"  he  said.  He  leaned  over  and 
whispered  in  her  ear:  "So  was  mine!" 

Araminta's  tell-tale  face  betrayed  her  relief. 
He  knew  the  worst  now — and  he  was  similarly 
branded.  His  mother,  too,  had  been  an  out 
cast,  beyond  Aunt  Hitty's  pale.  There  was 
comfort  in  the  thought,  though  Araminta  had 
been  taught  not  to  rejoice  at  another's  mis 
fortune. 

Ralph  strolled  off  down  the  hill,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  for  the  moment  totally  forget 
ting  the  promised  kitten.  "  The  little  saint,"  he 
mused,  "she  's  been  kept  in  a  cage  all  her  life. 


IRalpb's  fftrst  Case 


She  does  n't  know  anything  except  what  the 
dragon  has  taught  her.  She  looks  at  life  with 
the  dragon's  sidewise  squint.  I  '11  open  the 
door  for  her,"  he  continued,  mentally,  "  for  I 
think  she  's  worth  saving.  Hope  to  Moses  and 
the  prophets  I  don't  forget  that  cat." 

No  suspicion  that  he  could  forget  penetrated 
Araminta's  consciousness.  It  had  been  pleas 
ant  to  have  Doctor  Ralph  sit  there  and  wash 
her  face,  talking  to  her  meanwhile,  even  though 
he  was  a  man,  and  men  were  poison.  Like  a 
strong,  sure  bond  between  them,  Araminta  felt 
their  common  disgrace. 

"His  mother  was  married,"  she  thought, 
drowsily,  "and  so  was  mine.  Neither  of  them 
knew  any  better.  Oh,  Lord,"  prayed  Araminta, 
with  renewed  vigour,  "  keep  me  from  the  con 
tamination  of  marriage,  for  Thy  sake.  Amen." 


TCatpb's 
ffirst 
Case 


152 


XI 

Xoose  linfc 

OEATED  primly  on  a  chair  in  Miss  Eve- 
ifnfc  v3  lina's  kitchen,  Miss  Mehitable  gave  a  full 
account  of  her  sentiments  toward  Doctor  Ralph 
Dexter.  She  began  with  his  birth  and  remarked 
that  he  was  a  puny  infant,  and,  for  a  time,  it 
was  feared  that  he  was  "  light  headed." 

"He  got  his  senses  after  a  while,"  though,  she 
continued,  grudgingly,  "  that  is,  such  as  they 
are." 

She  proceeded  through  his  school-days,  re 
peated  unflattering  opinions  which  his  teachers 
had  expressed  to  her,  gave  an  elaborate  de 
scription  of  the  conflict  that  ensued  when  she 
caught  him  stealing  green  apples  from  her 
incipient,  though  highly  promising,  orchard, 
alluded  darkly  to  his  tendency  to  fight  with  his 
schoolmates,  suggested  that  certain  thefts  of 
chickens  ten  years  and  more  ago  could,  if 


%oose  %tnfe  153 


the  truth  were  known,  safely  be  attributed  to       %o( 
Ralph  Dexter,  and  speculated  upon  the  trials 
and  tribulations  a  scapegrace  son  might  cause 
an  upright  and  respected  father. 

All  the  dead  and  buried  crimes  of  the  small 
boys  of  the  village  were  excavated  from  the 
past  and  charged  to  Ralph  Dexter.  Miss 
Mehitable  brought  the  record  fully  up  to  the 
time  he  left  Rushton  for  college,  having  been 
prepared  for  entrance  by  his  father  Then  she 
began  with  Araminta. 

First  upon  the  schedule  were  Miss  Mehitable's 
painful  emotions  when  Barbara  Smith  had 
married  Henry  Lee.  She  croaked  anew  all  her 
raven-like  prophecies  of  misfortune  which  had 
added  excitement  to  the  wedding,  and  brought 
forth  the  birth  of  Araminta  in  full  proof.  Full 
details  of  Barbara's  death  were  given,  and  the 
highly  magnified  events  which  had  led  to  her 
adoption  of  the  child.  Condescending  for  a 
moment  to  speak  of  the  domestic  virtues,  Miss 
Mehitable  explained,  with  proper  pride,  how 
she  had ' '  brought  up  "  Araminta.  The  child  had 
been  kept  close  at  the  side  of  her  guardian 
angel,  never  had  been  to  school,  had  been  care 
fully  taught  at  home,  had  not  been  allowed  to 
play  with  other  children;  in  short,  save  at 


I54 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


extremely  rare  intervals,  Araminta  had  seen 
no  one  unless  in  the  watchful  presence  of  her 
counsellor. 

"And  if  you  don't  think  that 's  work/'  ob 
served  Miss  Hitty,  piously,  "  you  just  keep  tied 
to  one  person  for  almost  nineteen  years,  day 
and  night,  never  lettin'  'em  out  of  your  sight, 
and  layin'  the  foundation  of  their  manners  and 
morals  and  education,  and  see  how  you  '11  feel 
when  a  blackmailing  sprig  of  a  play-doctor 
threatens  to  collect  a  hundred  dollars  from  you 
if  you  dast  to  nurse  your  own  niece!" 

Miss  Evelina,  silent  as  always,  was  moving 
restlessly  about  the  kitchen.  Unaccustomed 
since  her  girlhood  to  activity  of  any  description, 
she  found  her  new  tasks  hard.  Muscles,  long 
unused,  ached  miserably  from  exertion.  Yet 
Araminta  had  to  be  taken  care  of  and  her  room 
kept  clean. 

The  daily  visits  of  Doctor  Ralph,  who  was 
almost  painfully  neat,  had  made  Miss  Evelina 
ashamed  of  her  house,  though  he  had  not  ap 
peared  to  notice  that  anything  was  wrong.  She 
avoided  him  when  she  could,  but  it  was  not 
always  possible,  for  directions  had  to  be  given 
and  reports  made.  Miss  Evelina  never  looked 
at  him  directly.  One  look  into  his  eyes,  so  like 


ZTbe  3Loosc  Slinfe  I55 


his  father's,  had  made  her  so  faint  that  she 
would  have  fallen,  had  not  Doctor  Ralph 
steadied  her  with  his  strong  arm. 

To  her,  he  was  Anthony  Dexter  in  the 
days  of  his  youth,  though  she  continually 
wondered  to  find  it  so.  She  remembered  a 
story  she  had  read,  a  long  time  ago,  of 
a  young  woman  who  lost  her  husband  of  a 
few  weeks  in  a  singularly  pathetic  manner., 
In  exploring  a  mountain,  he  fell  into  a 
crevasse,  and  his  body  could  not  be  recovered. 
Scientists  calculated  that,  at  the  rate  the 
glacier  was  moving,  his  body  might  be  ex 
pected  to  appear  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
in  about  twenty-three  years;  so,  grimly,  the 
young  bride  set  herself  to  wait. 

At  the  appointed  time,  the  glacier  gave  up 
its  dead,  in  perfect  preservation,  owing  to  the 
intense  cold.  But  the  woman  who  had  waited 
for  her  husband  thus  was  twenty-three  years 
older;  she  had  aged,  and  he  was  still  young.  In 
some  such  way  had  Anthony  Dexter  come  back 
to  her;  eager,  boyish,  knowing  none  of  life  ex 
cept  its  joy,  while  she,  a  quarter  of  a  century 
older,  had  borne  incredible  griefs,  been  wasted 
by  long  vigils,  and  now  stood,  desolate,  at  the 
tomb  of  a  love  which  was  not  dead,  but 


156 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


continually  tore  at  its  winding  sheet  and  prayed 
itnfe  for  release. 

To  Evelina,  at  times,  the  past  twenty-five 
years  seemed  like  a  long  nightmare.  This  was 
Anthony  Dexter — this  boy  with  the  quick, 
light  step,  the  ringing  laugh,  the  broad  shoul 
ders  and  clear,  true  eyes.  No  terror  lay  be 
tween  them,  all  was  straight  and  right;  yet 
the  realisation  still  enshrouded  her  like  a  black 
cloud. 

"  And,"  said  Miss  Hitty,  mournfully,  "  after 
all  my  patience  and  hard  work  in  bringing  up 
Araminta  as  a  lady  should  be  brought  up,  and 
having  taught  her  to  beware  of  men  and  even 
of  boys,  she 's  took  away  from  me  when  she  's 
sick,  and  nobody  allowed  to  see  her  except  a 
blackmailing  play-doctor,  who  is  putting 
Heaven  knows  what  devilment  into  her  head. 
I  suppose  there  's  nothing  to  prevent  me  from 
finishing  the  housecleaning,  if  I  don't  speak  to 
my  own  niece  as  I  pass  her  door?" 

She  spoke  inquiringly,  but  Miss  Evelina  did 
not  reply. 

"  Most  folks,"  continued  Miss  Hitty,  with 
asperity,  "  is  pleased  enough  to  have  their 
houses  cleaned  for  'em  to  say  'thank  you,'  but 
I  'm  some  accustomed  to  ingratitude.  What  I 


Ube  Sloose  Hfnfc 


157 


do  now  in  the  way  of  cleanin'  will  be  payin'  for 
the  nursin'  of  Araminta." 

Still  Miss  Evelina  did  not  answer,  her 
thoughts  being  far  away. 

"  Maybe  I  did  speak  cross  to  Minty,"  ad 
mitted  Miss  Hitty,  grudgingly,  "at  a  time  when 
I  had  no  business  to.  If  I  did,  I  'm  willin'  to 
tell  her  so,  but  not  that  blackmailing  play- 
doctor  with  a  hundred-dollar  bill  for  a  club.  I 
was  clean  out  of  patience  with  Minty  for  falling 
off  the  ladder,  but  I  guess,  as  he  says,  she 
did  n't  go  for  to  do  it.  T  ain't  in  reason  for 
folks  to  step  off  ladders  or  out  of  windows  un 
less  they  're  walkin'  in  their  sleep,  and  I  've 
never  let  Minty  sleep  in  the  daytime." 

Unceasingly,  Miss  Mehitable  prattled  on. 
Reminiscence,  anecdote,  and  philosophical 
observations  succeeded  one  another  with 
startling  rapidity,  ending  always  in  vitupera 
tion  and  epithet  directed  toward  Araminta's 
physician.  Dark  allusions  to  the  base  ingrati 
tude  of  everybody  with  whom  Miss  Hitty  had 
ever  been  concerned  alternately  cumbered  her 
speech.  At  length  the  persistent  sound  wore 
upon  Miss  Evelina,  much  as  the  vibration  of 
sound  may  distress  one  totally  deaf. 

The  kitchen  door  was  open  and  Miss  Evelina 


Ube 

ftoose 


fcinfe 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ube 


linh 


went  outdoors.  Miss  Mehitable  continued  to 
converse,  then  shortly  perceived  that  she  was 
alone.  "  Well,  I  never!"  she  gasped.  "  Guess 
I  '11  go  home!" 

Her  back  was  very  stiff  and  straight  when 
she  marched  downhill,  firmly  determined  to 
abandon  Evelina,  scorn  Doctor  Ralph  Dexter, 
and  leave  Araminta  to  her  well-deserved  fate. 
One  thought  and  one  only  illuminated  her 
gloom.  "  He  ain't  got  his  four  dollars  and  a 
half,  yet,"  she  chuckled,  craftily.  "  Mebbe 
he  '11  get  it  and  mebbe  he  won't.  We  '11  see." 

While  straying  about  the  garden,  Miss 
Evelina  saw  her  unwelcome  guest  take  her 
militant  departure,  and  reproached  herself  for 
her  lack  of  hospitality.  Miss  Mehitable  had 
been  very  kind  to  her  and  deserved  only  kind 
ness  in  return.  She  had  acted  upon  impulse 
and  was  ashamed. 

Miss  Evelina  meditated  calling  her  back,  but 
the  long  years  of  self-effacement  and  inactivity 
had  left  her  inert,  with  capacity  only  for  suffer 
ing.  That  very  suffering  to  which  she  had  be 
come  accustomed  had  of  late  assumed  fresh 
phases.  She  was  hurt  continually  in  new  ways, 
yet,  after  the  first  shock  of  returning  to  her  old 
home,  not  so  much  as  she  had  expected.  It  is  a 


Ube  Xoose  %infc  159 

way  of  life,  and  one  of  its  inmost  compensations 
— this  finding  of  a  reality  so  much  easier  than 
our  fears. 

April  had  come  over  the  hills,  singing,  with  a 
tinkle  of  rain  and  a  rush  of  warm  winds,  and 
yet  the  Piper  had  not  returned.  His  tools  were 
in  the  shed,  and  the  mountain  of  rubbish  was 
still  in  the  road  in  front  of  the  house.  Half  of 
the  garden  had  not  been  touched.  On  one  side 
of  the  house  was  the  bare  brown  earth,  with 
tiny  green  shoots  springing  up  through  it,  and 
on  the  other  was  a  twenty-five  years'  growth 
of  weeds.  Miss  Evelina  reflected  that  the  place 
was  not  unlike  her  own  life;  half  of  it  full  of 
promise,  a  forbidding  wreck  in  the  midst  of  it, 
and,  beyond  it,  desolation,  ended  only  by  a 
stone  wall. 

"  Did  you  think?"  asked  a  cheerful  voice  at 
her  elbow,  "that  I  was  never  coming  back  to 
finish  my  job?" 

Miss  Evelina  started,  and  gazed  into  the 
round,  smiling  face  of  Piper  Tom,  who  was  ac 
companied,  as  always,  by  his  faithful  dog. 

"  T  is  not  our  way,"  he  went  on,  including 
the  yellow  mongrel  in  the  pronoun,  "to  leave 
undone  what  we  've  set  our  hands  and  paws  to 
do,  eh,  Laddie?" 


i6o 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 

loose 

Itnfe 


He  waited  a  moment,  but  Miss  Evelina  did 
nnt  speak. 

"  I  got  some  seeds  for  my  garden,"  he  con 
tinued,  taking  bulging  parcels  from  the  pockets 
of  his  short,  shaggy  coat.  "  The  year's  sorrow 
is  at  an  end." 

"  Sorrow  never  comes  to  an  end,"  she  cried, 
bitterly. 

"  Does  n't  it,"  he  asked.  "  How  old  is  yours  ?" 

"  Twenty-five  years,"  she  answered,  choking. 
The  horror  of  it  was  pressing  heavily  upon  her. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Piper,  very  gently,  "  I  'm 
thinking  there  is  something  wrong.  No  sorrow 
should  last  more  than  a  year — 't  is  written  all 
around  us  so." 

"  Written  ?  I  have  never  seen  it  written." 

"  No,"  returned  the  Piper,  kindly,  "  but  't  is 
because  you  have  not  looked  to  see.  Have  you 
ever  known  a  tree  that  failed  to  put  out  its 
green  leaves  in  the  Spring,  unless  it  had  died 
from  lightning  or  old  age?  When  a  rose  blos 
soms,  then  goes  to  sleep,  does  it  wait  for  more 
than  a  year  before  it  blooms  again?  Is  it  more 
than  a  year  from  bud  to  bud,  from  flower  to 
flower,  from  fruit  to  fruit?  T  is  God's  way  of 
showing  that  a  year  of  darkness  is  enough, — at 
a  time." 


3Loose  2Linfc 


161 


The  Piper's  voice  was  very  tender;  the  little 
dog  lay  still  at  his  feet.  She  leaned  against  the 
crumbling  wall,  and  turned  her  veiled  face  away. 

"T  is  not  for  us  to  be  happy  without  try 
ing,"  continued  the  Piper,  "any  more  than  it  is 
for  a  tree  to  bear  fruit  without  effort.  All  the 
beauty  and  joy  in  the  world  are  the  result  of 
work — work  for  each  other  and  in  ourselves. 
When  you  see  a  butterfly  over  a  field  of  clover, 
't  is  because  he  has  worked  to  get  out  of  his 
chrysalis.  He  was  not  content  to  abide  within 
his  veil." 

"Suppose,"  said  Miss  Evelina,  in  a  voice  that 
was  scarcely  audible,  "that  he  could  n't  get 
out?" 

"Ah,  but  he  could,"  answered  the  Piper. 
"  We  can  get  out  of  anything,  if  we  try.  I  'm 
not  meaning  by  escape,  but  by  growth.  You 
put  an  acorn  into  a  crevice  in  a  rock.  It  has  no 
wings,  it  cannot  fly  out,  nobody  will  lift  it  out. 
But  it  grows,  and  the  oak  splits  the  rock;  even 
takes  from  the  rock  nourishment  for  its  root." 

"  People  are  not  like  acorns  and  butterflies," 
she  stammered.  "We  are  not  subject  to  the 
same  laws." 

"  Why  not?"  asked  the  Piper..  "  God  made 
us  all,  and  I  'm  thinking  we  're  all  brothers, 


Ubc 

loose 
link 


162 


Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TCbe 
loose 
linfc 


having,  in  a  way,  the  same  Father.  T  is  not 
for  me  to  hold  myself  above  Laddie  here, 
though  he  's  a  dog  and  I  'm  a  man.  T  is  not 
for  me  to  say  that  men  are  better  than  dogs; 
that  they  're  more  honest,  more  true,  more 
kind.  The  seed  that  I  have  in  my  hand,  here, 
I  'm  thinking  't  is  my  brother,  too.  If  I  plant 
it,  water  it,  and  keep  the  weeds  away  from  it, 
't  will  give  me  back  a  blossom.  'T  is  service 
binds  us  all  into  the  brotherhood." 

"  Did  you  never,"  asked  Evelina,  thickly, 
"  hear  of  chains?" 

"Aye,"  said  the  Piper,  "chains  of  our  own 
making.  T  is  like  the  ancient  people  in  one  of 
my  ragged  books.  When  one  man  killed  an 
other,  they  chained  the  dead  man  to  the  living 
one,  so  that  he  was  forever  dragging  his  own 
sin.  When  he  struck  the  blow,  he  made  his 
own  chain." 

"  I  am  chained,"  cried  Evelina,  piteously, 
"but  not  to  my  own  sin." 

"T  is  wrong,"  said  the  Piper;  "I  'm  think 
ing  there  's  a  loose  link  somewhere  that  can  be 
slipped  off." 

"  I  cannot  find  it,"  she  sobbed;  "I  've  hunted 
for  it  in  the  dark  for  twenty-five  years." 

"Poor  soul,"  said  the  Piper,  softly.    "Tis 


Sloose  SLinfc  I63 


because  of  the  darkness,  I  'm  thinking.  From 
the  distaff  of  Eternity,  you  take  the  thread  of 
your  life,  but  you  're  sitting  in  the  night,  and 
God  meant  you  to  be  a  spinner  in  the  sun. 
When  the  day  breaks  for  you,  you  '11  be  finding 
the  loose  link  to  set  yourself  free/' 

"  When  the  day  breaks,"  repeated  Evelina, 
in  a  whisper.  "  There  is  no  day." 

"  There  is  day.  I  've  come  to  lead  you  to  it. 
We  '11  find  the  light  together  and  set  the  thread 
to  going  right  again." 

"  Who  are  you?"  cried  Evelina,  suddenly 
terror  stricken. 

The  Piper  laughed,  a  low,  deep  friendly 
laugh.  Then  he  doffed  his  grey  hat  and  bowed, 
sweeping  the  earth  with  the  red  feather,  in 
cavalier  fashion.  "  Tom  Barnaby,  at  your 
service,  but  most  folks  call  me  Piper  Tom. 
T  is  the  flute,  you  know,"  he  continued  in  ex 
planation,  "that  I  'm  forever  playing  on  in  the 
woods,  having  no  knowledge  of  the  instrument, 
but  sort  of  liking  the  sound." 

Miss  Evelina  turned  and  went  into  the  house, 
shaken  to  her  inmost  soul.  More  than  ever,  she 
felt  the  chains  that  bound  her.  Straining 
against  her  bonds,  she  felt  them  cutting  deep 
into  her  flesh.  Anthony  Dexter  had  bound  her; 


ib4 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TCbe 
loose 
linfe 


he  alone  could  set  her  free.  From  this  there 
seemed  no  possible  appeal. 

Meanwhile  the  Piper  mowed  down  the  weeds 
in  the  garden,  whistling  cheerily.  He  burned 
the  rubbish  in  the  road,  and  the  smoke  made  a 
blue  haze  on  the  hill.  He  spaded  and  raked  and 
found  new  stones  for  the  broken  wall,  and  kept 
up  a  constant  conversation  with  the  dog. 

It  was  twilight  long  before  he  got  ready  to 
make  the  flower  beds,  so  he  carried  the  tools 
back  into  the  shed  and  safely  stored  away  the 
seeds.  Miss  Evelina  watched  him  from  the 
grimy  front  window  as  he  started  downhill, 
but  he  did  not  once  look  back. 

There  was  something  jaunty  in  the  Piper's 
manner,  aside  from  the  drooping  red  feather 
which  bobbed  rakishly  as  he  went  home, 
whistling.  When  he  was  no  longer  to  be  seen, 
Miss  Evelina  sighed.  Something  seemed  to 
have  gone  out  of  her  life,  like  a  sunbeam  which 
has  suddenly  faded.  In  a  safe  shadow  of  the 
house,  she  raised  her  veil,  and  wiped  away  a 
tear. 

When  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  the  Piper 
stopped  his  whistling.  (  T  is  no  need  to  be 
cheerful,  Laddie,"  he  explained  to  the  dog, 
"  when  there  's  none  to  be  saddened  if  you  're 


Ube  HLoose  Xfnfc 


165 


not.  We  don't  know  about  the  loose  link,  and 
perhaps  we  can  never  find  it,  but  we  're  going 
to  try.  We  '11  take  off  the  chain  and  put  the 
poor  soul  in  the  sun  again  before  we  go  away, 
if  we  can  learn  how  to  do  it,  but  I  'm  thinking 
't  is  a  heavy  chain  and  the  sun  has  long  since 
ceased  to  shine." 

After  supper,  he  lighted  a  candle  and  ab 
sorbed  himself  in  going  over  his  stock.  He  had 
made  a  few  purchases  in  the  city  and  it  took 
some  time  to  arrange  them  properly. 

Last  of  all,  he  took  out  a  box  and  opened  it. 
He  held  up  to  the  flickering  light  length  after 
length  of  misty  white  chiffon — a  fabric  which 
the  Piper  had  never  bought  before. 

"T  is  expensive,  Laddie,"  he  said;  "so  ex 
pensive  that  neither  of  us  will  taste  meat  again 
for  more  than  a  week,  though  we  walked  both 
ways,  but  I  'm  thinking  she  '11  need  more 
sometime  and  there  was  none  to  be  had  here. 
We  '11  not  be  in  the  way  of  charging  for  it, 
since  her  gown  is  shabby  and  her  shoes  are 
worn." 

Twilight  deepened  into  night  and  still  the 
Piper  sat  there,  handling  the  chiffon  curiously 
and  yet  with  reverence.  It  was  silky  to  his 
touch,  filmy,  cloud-like.  He  folded  it  into 


1 66 


B  Spfnnet  fn  tbe  Sun 


loose 
linfc 


small  compass,  and  crushed  it  in  his  hands, 
much  surprised  to  find  that  it  did  not  crumple. 
All  the  meaning  of  chiffon  communicated  itself 
to  him — the  lightness  and  the  laughter,  the 
beauty  and  the  love.  Roses  and  moonlight 
seemed  to  belong  with  it,  youth  and  a  singing 
heart. 

"Tis  a  rare  stuff,  I  'm  thinking,  Laddie," 
he  said,  at  length,  not  noting  that  the  dog  was 
asleep.  "T  is  a  rare,  fine  stuff,  and  well  suited 
to  her  wearing,  because  she  is  so  beautiful  that 
she  hides  her  face." 


XII 

Utttten 


W 


ITH  her  mouth  firmly  set,  and  assuming 
the  air  of  a  martyr  trying  to  make  him 
self  a  little  more  comfortable  against  the  stake, 
Miss  Mehitable  climbed  the  hill.  In  her  capable 
hands  were  the  implements  of  warfare  —  pails, 
yellow  soap,  and  rags.  She  carried  a  mop  on 
her  shoulder  as  a  regular  carries  a  gun. 

"  Havin'  said  I  would  clean  house,  I  will 
clean  house/'  she  mused,  "in  spite  of  all  the 
ingratitude  and  not  listenin'.  T  won't  take 
long,  and  it  '11  do  my  heart  good  to  see  the 
place  clean  again.  Evelina  's  got  no  gumption 
about  a  house  —  never  did  have.  I  s'pose  she 
thinks  it  's  clean  just  because  she  's  swept  it 
and  brushed  down  the  cobwebs,  but  it  needs 
more  'n  a  broom  to  take  out  twenty-five  years' 
dirt." 

Her  militant  demeanour  was  somewhat 
chastened  when  she  presented  herself  at  the 


167 


Ore* 
Tkttten 


168 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


I 


fcttten 


house.  When  the  door  was  opened,  she  brushed 
past  Miss  Evelina  with  a  muttered  explanation, 
and  made  straight  for  the  kitchen  stove.  She 
heated  a  huge  kettle  of  water,  filled  her  pail, 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  spoke. 

"  I  've  come  to  finish  cleanin'  as  I  promised  I 
would,  and  I  hope  it  '11  offset  your  nursin'  of 
Minty.  And  if  that  blackmailing  play-doctor 
comes  while  I  'm  at  work,  you  can  tell  him 
that  I  ain't  speakin'  to  Minty  from  the  hall, 
nor  settin'  foot  in  her  room,  and  that  he 
need  n't  be  in  any  hurry  to  make  out  his  bill, 
'cause  I  'm  goin'  to  take  my  time  about  payin' 
it." 

She  went  upstairs  briskly,  and  presently  the 
clatter  of  moving  furniture  fairly  shook  the 
house  over  Miss  Evelina's  head.  It  sounded  as 
if  Miss  Mehitable  did  not  know  there  was  an 
invalid  in  the  house,  and  found  distinct  pleas 
ure  in  making  unnecessary  noise.  The  quick, 
regular  strokes  of  the  scrubbing  brush  swished 
through  the  hall.  Resentment  inspired  the 
ministering  influence  to  speed. 

But  it  was  not  in  Miss  Hitty's  nature  to 
cherish  her  wrath  long,  while  the  incense  of 
yellow  soap  was  in  her  nostrils  and  the  pleasing 
foam  of  suds  was  everywhere  in  sight. 


H  Ores  IRitten 


Presently  she  began  to  sing,  in  a  high, 
cracked  voice  which  wavered  continually  off 
the  key.  She  went  through  her  repertory  of 
hymns  with  conscientious  thoroughness.  Then 
a  bright  idea  came  to  her. 

'There  wa'n't  nothin'  said  about  singin'," 
she  said  to  herself.  "I  wa'n't  to  speak  to  Minty 
from  the  hall,  nor  set  foot  into  her  room.  But 
I  ain't  pledged  not  to  sing  in  the  back  room, 
and  I  can  sing  any  tune  I  please,  and  any 
words.  Reckon  Minty  can  hear." 

The  moving  of  the  ladder  drowned  the  sound 
made  by  the  opening  of  the  lower  door.  Secure 
upon  her  height,  with  her  head  near  the  open 
transom  of  the  back  room,  Miss  Mehitable 
began  to  sing. 

"Araminta  Lee  is  a  bad,  un-grate-ful  girl," 
she  warbled,  to  a  tune  the  like  of  which  no 
mortal  had  ever  heard  before.  "She  fell  off  of  a 
step-lad-der,  and  sprained  her  an-kle,  and  the 
play-doc-tor  said  it  was  broke  in  or-der  to  get 
more  mon-ey,  breaks  being  more  val-u-able 
than  sprains.  Araminta  Lee  is  lay-ing  in  bed 
like  a  la-dy,  while  her  poor  old  aunt  works  her 
fingers  to  the  bone,  to  pay  for  doc-tor's  bills 
and  nursin'.  Four  dollars  and  a  half,"  she 
chanted,  mournfully,  "and  no-body  to  pay  it 


170  H  Spfnner  in  tbe  Sun 

a  but  a  poor  old  aunt  who  has  to  work  her  fm-gers 
ftttt7n  to  the  bone.  Four  dollars  and  a  half,  four  dol 
lars  and  a  half — almost  five  dollars.  Araminta 
thinks  she  will  get  out  of  work  by  pretending 
to  be  sick,  but  it  is  not  so,  not  so.  Araminta 
will  find  out  she  is  much  mis-taken.  She  will 
do  the  Fall  clean-ing  all  alone,  alone,  and  we  do 
not  think  there  will  be  any  sprained  an-kles, 
nor  any  four  dollars " 

Doctor  Ralph  Dexter  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  his  face  flaming  with  wrath.  Miss  Mehit- 
able  continued  to  sing,  apparently  unconcerned, 
though  her  heart  pounded  violently  against  her 
ribs.  By  a  swift  change  of  words  and  music, 
she  was  singing  "Rock  of  Ages,"  as  any  woman 
is  privileged  to  do,  when  cleaning  house,  or  at 
any  other  time. 

But  the  young  man  still  stood  there,  his 
angry  eyes  fixed  upon  her.  The  scrutiny  made 
Miss  Mehitable  uncomfortable,  and  at  length 
she  descended  from  the  ladder,  still  singing, 
ostensibly  to  refill  her  pail. 

"  Let  me  hide — "  warbled  Miss  Hitty,  trem 
ulously,  attempting  to  leave  the  room. 

Doctor  Ralph  effectually  barred  the  way. 
"  I  should  think  you  'd  want  to  hide/'  he  said, 
scornfully.  "If  I  hear  of  anything  like  this 


H  <3re£  Tkttten 


again,  I  '11  send  in  that  bill  I  told  you  of.    I 

know  a  lawyer  who  can  collect  it."  ftitten 

"  If  you  do,"  commented  Miss  Mehitable, 
ironically,  "you  know  more  'n  I  do."  She  tried 
to  speak  with  assurance,  but  her  soul  was  quak 
ing  within  her.  Was  it  possible  that  any  one 
knew  she  had  over  three  hundred  dollars  safely 
concealed  in  the  attic? 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say,"  continued 
Ralph.  "If  you  so  much  as  climb  these  stairs 
again,  you  and  I  will  have  trouble." 

Sniffing  disdainfully,  Miss  Mehitable  went 
down  into  the  kitchen,  no  longer  singing. 
"  You  '11  have  to  finish  your  own  cleanin',"  she 
said  to  Miss  Evelina.  "  That  blackmailing  play- 
doctor  thinks  it  ain't  good  for  my  health  to 
climb  ladders.  He  's  afraid  I  '11  fall  off  same 
as  Minty  did  and  he  hesitates  to  take  more 
of  my  money." 

"  I  'd  much  rather  you  would  n't  do  any 
more,"  replied  Miss  Evelina,  kindly.  "You 
have  been  very  good  to  me,  ever  since  I  came 
here,  and  I  appreciate  it  more  than  I  can  tell 
you.  I  'm  going  to  clean  my  own  house,  for, 
indeed,  I  'm  ashamed  of  it." 

Miss  Hitty  grunted  unintelligibly,  gathered 
up  her  paraphernalia,  and  prepared  to  depart. 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"  When  Minty  's  well,"  she  said,  "  I  '11  come 
back  and  be  neighbourly." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  come  before  that,"  responded 
Miss  Evelina.  "I  shall  miss  you  if  you  don't." 

Miss  Hitty  affected  not  to  hear,  but  she  was 
mollified,  none  the  less. 

From  his  patient's  window,  Doctor  Ralph 
observed  the  enemy  in  full  retreat,  and  laughed 
gleefully.  "  What  is  funny?"  queried  Araminta, 
She  had  been  greatly  distressed  by  the  recita 
tive  in  the  back  bedroom  and  her  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  fever. 

"  I  was  just  laughing,"  said  Doctor  Ralph, 
"because  your  aunt  has  gone  home  and  is  never 
coming  back  here  any  more." 

"  Oh,  Doctor  Ralph!  Is  n't  she?"  There  was 
alarm  in  Araminta's  voice,  but  her  grey  eyes 
were  shining. 

"  Never  any  more,"  he  assured  her,  in  a 
satisfied  tone.  "How  long  have  you  lived  with 
Aunt  Hitty?" 

"  Ever  since  I  was  a  baby." 

"  H  —  m  !  And  how  old  are  you  now?" 

"  Almost  nineteen." 

"  Where  did  you  go  to  school?" 

"  I  did  n't  go  to  school.  Aunt  Hitty  taught 
me,  at  home." 


a  6re    "Kitten 


173 


"  Did  n't  you  ever  have  anybody  to  play 
with?" 

"  Only  Aunt  Hitty.  We  used  to  play  a  quilt 
game.  I  sewed  the  little  blocks  together,  and 
she  made  the  big  ones." 

"  Must  have  been  highly  exciting.  Did  n't 
you  ever  have  a  doll?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Araminta's  eyes  were  wide  and 
reproachful  now.  The  Bible  says  'thou  shalt 
not  make  unto  thee  any  graven  image.' " 

Doctor  Ralph  sighed  deeply,  put  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  paced  restlessly  across 
Araminta's  bare,  nun-like  chamber.  As  though 
in  a  magic  mirror,  he  saw  her  nineteen  years  of 
deprivation,  her  cramped  and  narrow  child 
hood,  her  dense  ignorance  of  life.  No  play 
mates,  no  dolls — nothing  but  Aunt  Hitty.  She 
had  kept  Araminta  wrapped  in  cotton  wool, 
mentally;  shut  her  out  from  the  world,  and 
persistently  shaped  her  toward  a  monastic  ideal. 

A  child  brought  up  in  a  convent  could  have 
been  no  more  of  a  nun  in  mind  and  spirit  than 
Araminta.  Ralph  well  knew  that  the  stern 
guardianship  had  not  been  relaxed  a  moment, 
either  by  night  or  by  day.  Miss  Mehitable  had 
a  well-deserved  reputation  for  thoroughness  in 
whatever  she  undertook. 


174 


H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


H 

Ores 
mitten 


And  Araminta  was  made  for  love.  Ralph 
turned  to  look  at  her  as  she  lay  on  her  pillow, 
her  brown,  wavy  hair  rioting  about  her  flushed 
face.  Araminta's  great  grey  eyes  were  very 
grave  and  sweet;  her  mouth  was  that  of  a 
lovable  child.  Her  little  hands  were  dimpled  at 
the  knuckles,  in  fact,  as  Ralph  now  noted, 
there  were  many  dimples  appertaining  to 
Araminta. 

One  of  them  hovered  for  an  instant  about 
the  corner  of  her  mouth.  "Why  must  you 
walk?"  she  asked.  "  Is  it  because  you  're  glad 
your  ankle  is  n't  broken?' 

Doctor  Ralph  came  back  and  sat  down  on 
the  bed  beside  her.  He  had  that  rare  sympathy 
which  is  the  inestimable  gift  of  the  physician, 
and  long  years  of  practice  had  not  yet  cal 
loused  him  so  that  a  suffering  fellow-mortal 
was  merely  a  "case".  His  heart  was  danger 
ously  tender  toward  her. 

"  Lots  of  things  are  worse  than  broken 
ankles,"  he  assured  her.  "  Has  it  been  so  bad 
to  be  shut  up  here,  away  from  Aunt  Hitty?" 

"No,"  said  the  truthful  Araminta.  "I  have 
always  been  with  Aunt  Hitty,  and  it  seems 
queer,  but  very  nice.  Someway,  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  grown  up." 


B  (5rep  mitten 


175 


"  Has  Miss  Evelina  been  good  to  you?" 

"  Oh,  so  good,"  returned  Araminta,  grate 
fully.  "Why?" 

"Because,"  said  Ralph,  concisely,  "if  she 
had  n't  been,  I  'd  break  her  neck." 

"  You  could  n't,"  whispered  Araminta, 
softly,  "  you  're  too  kind.  You  would  n't 
hurt  anybody." 

"  Not  unless  I  had  to.  Sometimes  there  has 
to  be  a  little  hurt  to  keep  away  a  greater  one." 

"  You  hurt  me,  I  think,  but  I  did  n't  know 
just  when.  It  was  the  smelly,  sweet  stuff, 
was  n't  it?" 

Ralph  did  not  heed  the  question.  He  was 
wondering  what  would  become  of  Araminta 
when  she  went  back  to  Miss  Mehitable's,  as 
she  soon  must.  Her  ankle  was  healing  nicely 
and  in  a  very  short  time  she  would  be  able  to 
walk  again.  He  could  not  keep  her  there  much 
longer.  By  a  whimsical  twist  of  his  thought, 
he  perceived  that  he  was  endeavouring  to  wrap 
Araminta  in  cotton  wool  of  a  different  sort,  to 
prevent  Aunt  Hitty  from  wrapping  her  in  her 
own  particular  brand. 

"  The  little  cat,"  said  Araminta,  fondly.  "  I 
thought  perhaps  it  would  come  to-day.  Is  it 
coming  when  I  am  well?" 


mitten 


176 


H  Spfnnet  in  tbe  Sun 


B 


Tkittcn 


"Holy  Moses!"  ejaculated  Ralph.  He  had 
never  thought  of  the  kitten  again,  and  the  poor 
child  had  been  waiting  patiently,  with  never 
a  word.  The  clear  grey  eyes  were  upon  him, 
eloquent  with  belief. 

"The  little  cat,"  replied  Ralph,  shamelessly 
perjuring  himself,  "was  not  old  enough  to  leave 
its  mother.  We  '11  have  to  wait  until  to-morrow 
or  next  day.  I  was  keeping  it  for  a  surprise; 
that 's  why  I  did  n't  say  anything  about  it.  I 
thought  you  'd  forgotten." 

"Oh,  no!  When  I  go  back  home,  you  know, 
I  can't  have  it.  Aunt  Hitty  would  never  let 
me." 

"Won't  she?"  queried  Ralph.  "We  '11  see!" 

He  spoke  with  confidence  he  was  far  from 
feeling,  and  was  dimly  aware  that  Araminta 
had  the  faith  he  lacked.  "  She  thinks  I  'm  a 
wonder-worker,"  he  said  to  himself,  grimly, 
"  and  I  've  got  to  live  up  to  it." 

It  was  not  necessary  to  count  Araminta's 
pulse  again,  but  Doctor  Ralph  took  her  hand — 
a  childish,  dimpled  hand  that  nestled  confid 
ingly  in  his. 

"  Listen,  child,"  he  said;  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you.  Your  Aunt  Hitty  has  n't  done  right  by 
you.  She  's  kept  you  in  cotton  when  you  ought 


a 


Tfcftten 


177 


to  be  outdoors.  You  should  have  gone  to 
school  and  had  other  children  to  play  with." 

"And  cats?" 

"  Cats,  dogs,  birds,  rabbits,  snakes,  mice, 
pigeons,  guinea-pigs — everything." 

"  I  was  never  in  cotton,"  corrected  Ara- 
minta,  "  except  once,  when  I  had  a  bad  cold." 

"  That  is  n't  just  what  I  mean,  but  I  'm 
afraid  I  can't  make  you  understand.  There  's 
a  whole  world  full  of  big,  beautiful  things  that 
you  don't  know  anything  about;  great  sorrows, 
great  joys,  and  great  loves.  Look  here,  did  you 
ever  feel  badly  about  anything?" 

"Only — only — "  stammered  Araminta;  "my 
mother,  you  know.  She  was — was  married." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  Ralph,  beginning  to  com 
prehend.  "  Have  you  been  taught  that  it 's 
wrong  to  be  married?" 

"Why,  yes,"  answered  Araminta,  con 
fidently.  "  It  's  dreadful.  Aunt  Hitty  is  n't 
married,  neither  is  the  minister.  It  's  very, 
very  wrong.  Aunt  Hitty  told  my  mother  so, 
but  she  would  do  it." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  little  warm 
hand  still  rested  trustingly  in  Ralph's.  "  Listen, 
dear,"  he  began,  clearing  his  throat;  "  it  is  n't 
wrong  to  be  married.  I  never  before  in  all  my 


a 

Ores 
tftitten 


178  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

life  heard  of  anybody  who  thought  it  was. 
iftitten  Something  is  twisted  in  Aunt  Hitty's  mind,  or 
else  she  's  taught  you  that  because  she  's  so 
brutally  selfish  that  she  does  n't  want  you 
ever  to  be  married.  Some  people,  who  are 
unhappy  themselves,  are  so  constituted  that 
they  can't  bear  to  see  anybody  else  happy. 
She  's  afraid  of  life,  and  she's  taught  you  to  be. 

"  It  's  better  to  be  unhappy,  Araminta,  than 
never  to  take  any  risks.  It  all  lies  in  yourself 
at  last.  If  you  're  a  true,  loving  woman,  and 
never  let  yourself  be  afraid,  nothing  very  bad 
can  ever  happen  to  you.  Aunt  Hitty  has  been 
unjust  to  deny  you  life.  You  have  the  right 
to  love  and  learn  and  suffer,  to  make  great 
sacrifices,  see  great  sacrifices  made  for  you;  to 
believe,  to  trust — even  to  be  betrayed.  It 's 
your  right,  and  it  's  been  kept  away  from  you." 

Araminta  was  very  still  and  her  hand  was 
cold.  She  moved  it  uneasily. 

"  Don't,  dear,"  said  Ralph,  his  voice  break 
ing.  "  Don't  you  like  to  have  me  hold  your 
hand?  I  won't,  if  you  don't  want  me  to." 

Araminta  drew  her  hand  away.  She  was 
frightened. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  're  afraid,"  continued 
Ralph,  huskily.  "  You  little  wild  bird,  you've 


a  <&et£  ifcttten 


179 


been  in  a  cage  all  your  life.  I  'm  going  to  open 
the  door  and  set  you  free." 

Miss  Evelina  tapped  gently  on  the  door,  then 
entered,  with  a  bowl  of  broth  for  the  invalid. 
She  set  it  down  on  the  table  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  and  went  out,  as  quietly  as  she  had  come. 

"  I  'm  going  to  feed  you  now,"  laughed 
Ralph,  with  a  swift  change  of  mood,  "and  when 
I  come  to  see  you  to-morrow,  I  'm  going  to 
bring  you  a  book." 

"What  kind  of  a  book?"  asked  Araminta, 
between  spoonfuls. 

"  A  novel — a  really,  truly  novel." 

"You  must  n't!"  she  cried, frightened  again. 
"  You  get  burned  if  you  read  novels." 

"  Some  of  them  are  pretty  hot  stuff,  I  '11 
admit,"  returned  Ralph,  missing  her  meaning, 
"but,  of  course,  I  would  n't  give  you  that  kind. 
What  sort  of  stories  do  you  like  best?" 

"  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den  and  about  the  ark. 
I  've  read  all  the  Bible  twice  to  Aunt  Hitty 
while  she  sewed,  and  most  of  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  too.  Don't  ask  me  to  read  a  novel, 
for  I  can't.  It  would  be  wicked." 

"All  right — we  won't  call  it  a  novel.  It  '11 
be  just  a  story  book.  It  is  n't  wrong  to  read 
stories,  is  it?" 


B 


kitten 


i8o  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

"  No-o,"  said  Araminta,  doubtfully.  "  Aunt 
*«ten  Hitty  never  said  it  was." 

"  I  would  n't  have  you  do  anything  wrong, 
Araminta — you  know  that.  Good-bye,  now 
until  to-morrow." 

Beset  by  strange  emotions,  Doctor  Ralph 
Dexter  went  home.  Finding  that  the  carriage 
was  not  in  use,  he  set  forth  alone  upon  his 
feline  quest,  reflecting  that  Araminta  herself 
was  not  much  more  than  a  little  grey  kitten. 
Everywhere  he  went,  he  was  regarded  with 
suspicion.  People  denied  the  possession  of  cats, 
even  while  cats  were  mewing  in  defiance  of  the 
assertion.  Bribes  were  offered,  and  sternly 
refused. 

At  last,  ten  miles  from  home,  he  found  a 
maltese  kitten  its  owner  was  willing  to  part 
with,  in  consideration  of  three  dollars  and  a 
solemn  promise  that  the  cat  was  not  to  be  hurt. 

"  It  's  for  a  little  girl  who  is  ill,"  he  said. 
"  I  've  promised  her  a  kitten." 

"  So  your  father  's  often  said,"  responded 
the  woman,  "  but  someway,  I  believe  you." 

On  the  way  home,  he  pondered  long  before 
the  hideous  import  of  it  came  to  him.  All  at 
once,  he  knew. 


XIII 


TOt>er  Comes  into  it0 


FATHER/'  asked  Ralph,  "  who  is  Evelina 
Grey?" 

Anthony  Dexter  started  from  his  chair  as 
though  he  had  heard  a  pistol  shot,  then  settled 
back,  forcing  his  features  into  mask-like  calm 
ness.  He  waited  a  moment  before  speaking. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  trying  to 
make  his  voice  even,  "Why?" 

"  She  lives  in  the  house  with  my  one  pa 
tient,"  explained  Ralph;  "up  on  the  hill,  you 
know.  She  's  a  frail,  ghostly  little  woman  in 
black,  and  she  always  wears  a  thick  white  veil." 

"That's  her  privilege,  is  n't  it?"  queried 
Anthony  Dexter.  He  had  gained  control  of 
himself,  now,  and  spoke  almost  as  usual. 

"  Of  course  I  did  n't  ask  any  questions," 
continued  Ralph,  thoughtfully,  "  but,  obvi 
ously,  the  only  reason  for  her  wearing  it  is  some 
terrible  disfigurement.  So  much  is  surgically 


tEbe  tfttvet 

Comes 

into  its 

Own 


182 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube  IRiver 

Corned 

into  ite 

©wn 


possible  in  these  days  that  I  thought  something 
might  be  done  for  her.  Has  she  never  con 
sulted  you  about  it,  Father?" 

The  man  laughed — a  hollow,  mirthless  laugh. 
"  No,"  he  said;  "  she  has  n't."  Then  he  laughed 
once  more — in  a  way  that  jarred  upon  his  son. 

Ralph  paced  back  and  forth  across  the  room, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  Father,"  he  began, 
at  length,  "it  may  be  because  I  'm  young,  but 
I  hold  before  me,  very  strongly,  the  ideals  of 
our  profession.  It  seems  a  very  beautiful  and 
wonderful  life  that  is  opening  before  me — 
always  to  help,  to  give,  to  heal.  I — I  feel  as 
though  I  had  been  dedicated  to  some  sacred 
calling — some  lifelong  service.  And  service 
means  brotherhood." 

"  You  '11  get  over  that,"  returned  Anthony 
Dexter,  shortly,  yet  not  without  a  certain  se 
cret  admiration.  "  When  you  've  had  to  en 
gage  a  lawyer  to  collect  your  modest  wages 
for  your  uplifting  work,  the  healed  not  being 
sufficiently  grateful  to  pay  the  healer,  and  when 
you  've  gone  ten  miles  in  the  dead  of  Winter, 
at  midnight,  to  take  a  pin  out  of  a  squalling 
infant's  back,  why,  you  may  change  your 
mind." 

"  If  the  healed  are  n't  grateful,"  observed 


ttbe  1Ri\>er  Comes  into  its 


183 


Ralph,  thoughtfully,  "  it  must  be  in  some  way 
my  fault,  or  else  they  have  n't  fully  under 
stood.  And  I  'd  go  ten  miles  to  take  a  pin  out 
of  a  baby's  back — yes,  I  'm  sure  I  would." 

Anthony  Dexter's  face  softened,  almost  im 
perceptibly.  "  It  's  youth,"  he  said,  "  and 
youth  is  a  fault  we  all  get  over  soon  enough, 
Heaven  knows.  When  you  're  forty,  you  '11 
see  that  the  whole  thing  is  a  matter  of  business 
and  that,  in  the  last  analysis,  we  're  working 
against  Nature's  laws.  We  endeavour  to  pro 
long  the  lives  of  the  unfit,  when  only  the  fittest 
should  survive." 

"  That  makes  me  think  of  something  else," 
continued  Ralph,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Yesterday,  I 
canvassed  the  township  to  get  a  cat  for  Ara- 
minta — the  poor  child  never  had  a  kitten.  No 
body  would  let  me  have  one  till  I  got  far  away 
from  home,  and,  even  then,  it  was  difficult. 
They  thought  I  wanted  it  for — for  the  labora 
tory,"  he  concluded,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes?"  returned  Doctor  Dexter,  with  a 
rising  inflection.  "  I  could  have  told  you  that 
the  cat  and  dog  supply  was  somewhat  depleted 
hereabouts — through  my  own  experiments." 

"  Father!"  cried  Ralph,  his  face  eloquent 
with  reproach. 


Come0 
into  its 


i84 


B  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


Ubc  ttfvei 

Corner 

into  its 

©vm 


Laughing,  yet  secretly  ashamed,  Anthony 
Dexter  began  to  speak.  "  Surely,  Ralph,"  he 
said,  "you  're  not  so  womanish  as  that.  If  I  'd 
known  they  taught  such  stuff  as  that  at  my  old 
Alma  Mater,  I  'd  have  sent  you  somewhere  else. 
Who  's  doing  it  ?  What  old  maid  have  they 
added  to  their  faculty  ?" 

"Oh,  1  know,  Father,"  interrupted  Ralph, 
waiving  discussion.  "  I  've  heard  all  the  argu 
ments,  but,  unfortunately,  I  have  a  heart.  I 
don't  know  by  what  right  we  assume  that 
human  life  is  more  precious  than  animal  life; 
by  what  right  we  torture  and  murder  the  fit 
in  order  to  prolong  the  lives  of  the  unfit,  even 
if  direct  evidence  were  obtainable  in  every 
case,  which  it  is  n't.  Anyhow,  I  can't  do  it,  I 
never  have  done  it,  and  I  never  will.  I  recog 
nise  your  individual  right  to  shape  your  life  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  your  own  con 
science,  but,  because  I  'm  your  son,  I  can't  help 
being  ashamed.  A  man  capable  of  torturing 
an  animal,  no  matter  for  what  purpose,  is  also 
capable  of  torturing  a  fellow  human  being, 
for  purposes  of  his  own." 

Anthony  Dexter's  face  suddenly  blanched 
with  anger,  then  grew  livid.  "  You — "  he  be 
gan,  hotly. 


TTbe  TCiver  Comes  Into  its  <S>wn  185 

"Don't,  Father,"  interrupted  Ralph.  Comeg 
"  We  '11  not  have  any  words.  We  '11  not  let  a  ««c 
difference  of  opinion  on  any  subject  keep  us 
from  being  friends.  Perhaps  it  Js  because  I  'm 
young,  as  you  say,  but,  all  the  time  I  was  at 
college,  I  felt  that  I  had  something  to  lean  on, 
some  standard  to  shape  myself  to.  Mother  died 
so  soon  after  I  was  born  that  it  is  almost  as  if  I 
had  not  had  a  mother.  I  have  n't  even  a  child 
ish  memory  of  her,  and,  perhaps  for  that  rea 
son,  you  meant  more  to  me  than  the  other 
fellows'  fathers  did  to  them. 

"When  I  was  tempted  to  any  wrongdoing, 
the  thought  of  you  always  held  me  back. 
'Father  would  n't  do  it/  I  said  to  myself. 
'Father  always  does  the  square  thing,  and  I  'm 
his  son.'  I  remembered  that  our  name  means 
'right.'  So  I  never  did  it." 

"And  I  suppose,  now,"  commented  Anthony 
Dexter,  with  assumed  sarcasm,  "  your  idol  has 
fallen?" 

"  Not  fallen,  Father.  Don't  say  that.  You 
have  the  same  right  to  your  opinions  that  I 
have,  but  it  is  n't  square  to  cut  up  an  animal 
alive,  just  because  you  're  the  stronger  and 
there  's  no  law  to  prevent  you.  You  know 
it  is  n't  square!" 


1 86 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube  ttiver 

(Domes 

into  its 

Own 


In  the  accusing  silence,  Ralph  left  the  room, 
and  was  shortly  on  his  way  uphill,  with  Ara- 
minta's  promised  cat  mewing  in  his  coat 
pocket. 

The  grim,  sardonic  humour  of  the  situation 
appealed  strongly  to  Doctor  Dexter.  ' '  To 
think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that  only  last 
night,  that  identical  cat  was  observed  as  a 
fresh  and  promising  specimen,  providentially 
sent  to  me  in  the  hour  of  need.  And  if  I  had  n't 
wanted  Ralph  to  help  me,  Araminta's  pet 
would  at  this  moment  have  been  on  the  labora 
tory  table,  having  its  heart  studied — in  action." 

Repeatedly,  he  strove  to  find  justification 
for  a  pursuit  which  his  human  instinct  told  him 
had  no  justification.  His  reason  was  fully  ade 
quate,  but  something  else  failed  at  the  crucial 
point.  He  felt  definitely  uncomfortable  and 
wished  that  Ralph  might  have  avoided  the 
subject.  It  was  none  of  his  business,  anyway. 
But  then,  Ralph  himself  had  admitted  that. 

His  experiments  were  nearly  completed 
along  the  line  in  which  he  had  been  working. 
In  deference  to  a  local  sentiment  which  he  felt 
to  be  extremely  narrow  and  dwarfing,  he  had 
done  his  work  secretly.  He  had  kept  the  door 
of  the  laboratory  locked  and  the  key  in  his 


TTbe  IRtver  Comes  into  Its 


187 


pocket.  All  the  doors  and  windows  had  been 
closely  barred.  When  his  subjects  had  given 
out  under  the  heavy  physical  strain,  he  had 
buried  the  pitiful  little  bodies  himself. 

He  had  counted,  rather  too  surely,  on  the 
deafness  of  his  old  housekeeper,  and  had  also 
heavily  discounted  her  personal  interest  in  his 
pursuits  and  her  tendency  to  gossip.  Yet, 
through  this  single  channel  had  been  dis 
seminated  information  and  conjecture  which 
made  it  difficult  for  Ralph  to  buy  a  pet  for 
Araminta. 

Anthony  Dexter  shuddered  at  his  narrow 
escape.  Suppose  Araminta's  cat  had  been 
sacrificed,  and  he  had  been  obliged  to  tell 
Ralph?  One  more  experiment  was  absolutely 
necessary.  He  was  nearly  satisfied,  but  not 
quite.  It  would  be  awkward  to  have  Ralph 
make  any  unpleasant  discoveries,  and  he  could 
not  very  well  keep  him  out  of  the  laboratory, 
now,  without  arousing  his  suspicion.  Very  pos 
sibly,  a  man  who  would  torture  an  animal 
would  also  torture  a  human  being,  but  he  was 
unwilling  to  hurt  Ralph.  Consequently,  there 
was  a  flaw  in  the  logic — the  boy's  reasoning 
was  faulty,  unless  this  might  be  the  exception 
which  proved  the  rule. 


be  fRfver 
Comes 
into  fta 


188 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube  ttfver 

Comes 

Into  its 

©wn 


Who  was  Evelina  Grey?  He  wondered  how 
Ralph  had  come  to  ask  the  question.  Suppose 
he  had  told  him  that  Evelina  Grey  was  the 
name  of  a  woman  who  haunted  him,  night  and 
day!  In  her  black  gown  and  with  her  burned 
face  heavily  veiled,  she  was  seldom  out  of  his 
mental  sight. 

All  through  the  past  twenty-five  years,  he 
had  continually  told  himself  that  he  had  for 
gotten.  When  the  accusing  thought  presented 
itself,  he  had  invariably  pushed  it  aside,  and 
compelled  it  to  give  way  to  another.  In  this 
way,  he  had  acquired  an  emotional  control  for 
which  he,  personally,  had  great  admiration, 
not  observing  that  his  admiration  of  himself 
was  an  emotion,  and,  at  that,  less  creditable 
than  some  others  might  have  been. 

Man  walls  up  a  river,  and  commands  it  to  do 
his  bidding.  Outwardly,  the  river  assents  to 
the  arrangement,  yielding  to  it  with  a  readi 
ness  which,  in  itself,  is  suspicious,  but  man, 
rapt  in  contemplation  of  his  own  skill,  sees 
little  else.  By  night  and  by  day  the  river  leans 
heavily  against  the  dam.  Tiny,  sharp  currents, 
like  fingers,  tear  constantly  at  the  structure, 
working  always  underneath.  Hidden  and  un 
dreamed-of  eddies  burrow  beneath  the  dam; 


Ube  IRiper  Comes  Into  its  ©wn 


189 


slightly,  with  tooth  and  claw. 

At  last  an  imperceptible  opening  is  made. 
Streams  rush  down  from  the  mountain  to  join 
the  river;  even  raindrops  lend  their  individually 
insignificant  aid.  All  the  forces  of  nature  are 
subtly  arrayed  against  the  obstruction  in  the 
river  channel.  Suddenly,  with  the  thunder  of 
pent-up  waters  at  last  unleashed,  the  dam 
breaks,  and  the  structures  placed  in  the  path 
by  complacent  and  self-satisfied  man  are  swept 
on  to  the  sea  like  so  much  kindling-wood.  The 
river,  at  last,  has  come  into  its  own. 

A  feeling,  long  controlled,  must  eventually 
break  its  bonds.  Forbidden  expression,  and 
not  spent  by  expression,  it  accumulates  force. 
When  the  dam  breaks,  the  flood  is  more  de 
structive  than  the  steady,  normal  current  ever 
could  have  been.  Having  denied  himself  re 
morse,  and  having  refused  to  meet  the  fact  of 
his  own  cowardice,  Anthony  Dexter  was  now 
face  to  face  with  the  inevitable  catastrophe. 

He  told  himself  that  Ralph's  coming  had 
begun  it,  but,  in  his  heart,  he  knew  that  it  was 
that  veiled  and  ghostly  figure  standing  at  twi 
light  in  the  wrecked  garden.  He  had  seen  it 
again  on  the  road,  where  hallucination  was  less 


little    river    animals    undermine    it,    ever    so 

Comes 


into  its 


IQO 


a  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


TTbe  ttfver 
Comes 
into  its 
©wn 


likely,  if  not  altogether  impossible.  Then  the 
cold  and  sinuous  necklace  of  discoloured  pearls 
had  been  laid  at  his  door — the  pearls  which 
had  come  first  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and 
then  from  the  depths  of  his  love.  His  love  had 
given  up  its  dead  as  the  sea  does,  maimed  past 
all  recognition. 

The  barrier  had  been  so  undermined  that  on 
the  night  of  Ralph's  return  he  had  been  on  the 
point  of  telling  Thorpe  everything — indeed, 
nothing  but  Ralph's  swift  entrance  had  stopped 
his  impassioned  speech.  Was  he  so  weak  that 
only  a  slight  accident  had  kept  him  from  utter 
self-betrayal,  after  twenty-five  years  of  mag 
nificent  control?  Anthony  Dexter  liked  that 
word  "magnificent  "as  it  came  into  his  thoughts 
in  connection  with  himself. 

"  Father  would  n't  do  it.  Father  always 
does  the  square  thing,  and  I  'm  his  son." 
Ralph's  words  returned  with  a  pang  unbear 
ably  keen.  Had  Father  always  done  the  square 
thing,  or  had  Father  been  a  coward,  a  despic 
able  shirk?  And  what  if  Ralph  should  some 
day  come  to  know? 

The  man  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the 
boy's  face — if  he  knew.  Those  clear,  honest 
eyes  would  pierce  him  through  and  through, 


Ube  IRivet  Comes  into  its  <§>wn 


because ' 'Father  always  does  the  square  thing." 

Remorsely,  the  need  of  confession  surged 
upon  him.  There  was  no  confessional  in  his 
church — he  even  had  no  church.  Yet  Thorpe 
was  his  friend.  What  would  Thorpe  tell  him 
to  do? 

Then  Anthony  Dexter  laughed,  for  Thorpe 
had  unconsciously  told  him  what  to  do — and 
he  was  spared  the  confession.  As  though  writ 
ten  in  letters  of  fire,  the  words  came  back: 

The  honour  of  the  spoken  word  still  holds  him. 
He  asked  her  to  marry  him,  and  she  consented.  He 
was  never  released  from  his  promise — did  not 
even  ask  for  it.  He  slunk  away  like  a  cur.  In  the 
sight  of  God  he  is  hound  to  her  by  his  own  word 
still.  He  should  go  to  her  and  either  fulfil  his 
promise,  or  ask  for  release.  The  tardy  fulfilment 
of  his  promise  would  be  the  only  atonement  he 
could  make. 

Had  Evelina  come  back  to  demand  atone 
ment?  Was  this  why  the  vision  of  her  con 
fronted  him  everywhere?  She  waited  for  him 
on  the  road  in  daylight,  mocked  him  from  the 
shadows,  darted  to  meet  him  from  every  tree. 
She  followed  him  on  the  long  and  lonely  ways 
he  took  to  escape  her,  and,  as  he  walked,  her 
step  chimed  in  with  his. 


Ube  tRfvetr 
Gomes 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Cbe  ttfver 

Comes 

into  its 

©wn 


In  darkness,  Anthony  Dexter  feared  to  turn 
suddenly,  lest  he  see  that  black,  veiled  figure 
at  his  heels.  She  stood  aside  on  the  stairs  to 
let  him  pass  her,  entered  the  carriage  with  him 
and  sat  opposite,  her  veiled  face  averted.  She 
stood  with  him  beside  the  sick-bed,  listened, 
with  him,  to  the  heart-beats  when  he  used  the 
stethoscope,  waited  while  he  counted  the  pulse 
and  measured  the  respiration. 

Always  disapprovingly,  she  stood  in  the 
background  of  his  consciousness.  When  he 
wrote  a  prescription,  his  pencil  seemed  to  catch 
on  the  white  chiffon  which  veiled  the  paper  he 
was  using.  At  night,  she  stood  beside  his  bed, 
waiting.  In  his  sleep,  most  often  secured  in 
these  days  by  drugs,  she  steadfastly  and  un 
failingly  came.  She  spoke  no  word;  she  sim 
ply  followed  him,  veiled — and  the  phantom 
presence  was  driving  him  mad.  He  admitted 
it  now. 

And  "  Father  always  does  the  square 
thing."  Very  well,  what  was  the  square  thing? 
If  Father  always  does  it,  he  will  do  it  now. 
What  is  it? 

Anthony  Dexter  did  not  know  that  he  asked 
the  question  aloud.  From  the  silence  vibrated 
the  answer  in  Thorpe's  low,  resonant  tones: 


IRiver  Comes  into  its  <§>wn 


193 


Tie  honour  of  the  spoken  word  still  holds 
Urn  .  .  .  he  was  never  released  .  .  . 
he  slunk  away  like  a  cur  .  .  .  in  the  sight 
of  God  he  is  bound  to  her  by  his  own  word  still 

Bound  to  her!  In  every  fibre  of  his  being  he 
felt  the  bitter  truth.  He  was  bound  to  her  — 
had  been  bound  for  twenty-five  years  —  was 
bound  now.  And  "Father  always  does  the 
square  thing/' 

Once  in  a  man's  life,  perhaps,  he  sees  himself 
as  he  is.  In  a  blinding  flash  of  insight,  he  saw 
what  he  must  do.  Confession  must  be  made, 
but  not  to  any  pallid  priest  in  a  confessional, 
not  to  Thorpe,  nor  to  Ralph,  but  to  Evelina, 
herself. 

He  should  go  to  her  and  either  fulfil  his  promise, 
or  ask  for  release.  The  tardy  fulfilment  of  his 
promise  would  be  the  only  atonement  he  could 
make. 

Then  again,  still  in  Thorpe's  voice: 

//  the  woman  is  here  and  you  can  find  your 
friend,  we  may  help  him  to  wash  the  stain  of 
cowardice  off  his  soul. 

"The  stain  is  deep,"  muttered  Anthony 
Dexter.  "  God  knows  it  is  deep." 

Once  again  came  Thorpe's  voice,  shrilling  at 
him,  now,  out  of  the  vibrant  silence: 


194 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube  ttiver 
Comes 
into  its 


Sometimes  I  think  there  is  no  sin  but  shirking. 
I  can  excuse  a  liar,  I  can  pardon  a  thief,  I  can 
pity  a  murderer,  hut  a  shirk— no! 

"  Father  always  does  the  square  thing." 

Evidently,  Ralph  would  like  to  have  his  fa 
ther  bring  him  a  stepmother — a  woman  whose 
face  had  been  destroyed  by  fire — and  place  her 
at  the  head  of  his  table,  veiled  or  not,  as  Ralph 
chose.  Terribly  burned,  hopelessly  disfigured, 
she  must  live  with  them  always — because  she 
had  saved  him  from  the  same  thing,  if  she  had 
not  actually  saved  his  life. 

The  walls  of  the  room  swayed,  the  furniture 
moved  dizzily,  the  floor  undulated.  Anthony 
Dexter  reeled  and  fell — in  a  dead  faint. 

"Are  you  all  right  now,  Father?"  It  was 
Ralph's  voice,  anxious,  yet  cheery.  "  Who  'd 
have  thought  I  'd  get  another  patient  so 
soon!" 

Doctor  Dexter  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 
Memory  returned  slowly;  strength  more  slowly 
still. 

"Can't  have  my  Father  fainting  all  over 
the  place  without  a  permit,"  resumed  Ralph. 
"  You  've  been  doing  too  much.  I  take  the 
night  work  from  this  time  on." 


Comes  into  its 


195 


The  day  wore  into  late  afternoon.  Doctor 
Dexter  lay  on  the  couch  in  the  library,  the 
phantom  Evelina  persistently  at  his  side.  His 
body  had  failed,  but  his  mind  still  fought, 
feebly. 

"  There  is  no  one  here,"  he  said  aloud.  "  I 
am  all  alone.  I  can  see  nothing  because  there 
is  nothing  here." 

Was  it  fancy,  or  did  the  veiled  woman  convey 
the  impression  that  her  burned  lips  distorted 
themselves  yet  further  by  a  smile? 

At  dusk,  there  was  a  call.  Ralph  received 
from  his  father  a  full  history  of  the  case,  with 
suggestions  for  treatment  in  either  of  two 
changes  that  might  possibly  have  taken  place, 
and  drove  away. 

The  loneliness  was  keen.  The  empty  house, 
shorne  of  Ralph's  sunny  presence,  was  un 
bearable.  A  thousand  memories  surged  to  meet 
him;  a  thousand  voices  leaped  from  the  still 
ness.  Always,  the  veiled  figure  stood  by  him, 
mutely  accusing  him  of  shameful  cowardice. 
Above  and  beyond  all  was  Thorpe's  voice, 
shrilling  at  him: 

Tie  honour  of  the  spoken  word  still  holds 
him  .  .  .  he  was  never  released  .  .  . 
he  slunk  away  like  a  cur  .  .  .  he  is  hound 


Ube  fftfver 
Comes 
into  its 


196 


a  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ubc -River 

Comes 
into  its 


to  her  still 


there  is  no  sin  but  shirking 


Over  and  over  again,  the  words  rang  through 
his  consciousness.  Then,  like  an  afterclap  of 
thunder: 

Father  always  does  the  square  thing! 

The  dam  crashed,  the  barrier  of  years  was 
broken,  the  obstructions  were  swept  out  to  sea. 
Remorse  and  shame,  no  longer  denied,  over 
whelmingly  submerged  his  soul.  He  struggled 
up  from  the  couch  blindly,  and  went  out  — 
broken  in  body,  crushed  in  spirit,  yet  trium 
phantly  a  man  at  last. 


I97 


M 


XIV 

a  %ittle  1bour  of  Griumpb 

ISS  EVELINA  sat  alone  in  her  parlour, 

UDOttr  of 

which  was  now  spotlessly  clean.    Ara- 


minta  had  had  her  supper,  her  bath,  and  her 
clean  linen — there  was  nothing  more  to  do 
until  morning.  The  hard  work  had  proved  a 
blessing  to  Miss  Evelina;  her  thoughts  had  been 
constantly  forced  away  from  herself.  She  had 
even  learned  to  love  Araminta  with  the  protect 
ing  love  which  grows  out  of  dependence,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  she  felt  herself  stronger; 
better  fitted,  as  it  were,  to  cope  with  her  own 
grief. 

Since  coming  back  to  her  old  home,  her 
thought  and  feeling  had  been  endlessly  and 
painfully  confused.  She  sat  in  her  low  rocker 
with  her  veil  thrown  back,  and  endeavoured 
to  analyse  herself  and  her  surroundings,  to  see, 
if  she  might,  whither  she  was  being  led.  She 
was  most  assuredly  being  led,  for  she  had  not 


ig8 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


B  little 
Dour  of 
Urtumpb 


come  willingly,  nor  remained  willingly;  she  had 
been  hurt  here  as  she  had  not  been  hurt  since 
the  very  first,  and  yet,  if  a  dead  heart  can  be 
glad  of  anything,  she  was  glad  she  had  come. 
Upon  the  far  horizon  of  her  future,  she  dimly 
saw  change. 

She  had  that  particular  sort  of  peace  which 
comes  from  the  knowledge  that  the  worst  is 
over;  that  nothing  remains.  The  last  drop  of 
humiliation  had  been  poured  from  her  cup  the 
day  she  met  Anthony  Dexter  on  the  road  and 
had  been  splashed  with  mud  from  his  wheels 
as  he  drove  by.  It  was  inconceivable  that 
there  should  be  more. 

Dusk  came  and  the  west  gleamed  faintly. 
The  afterglow  merged  into  the  first  night  and 
at  star-break,  Venus  blazed  superbly  on  high, 
sending  out  rays  mystically  prismatic,  as  from 
some  enchanted  lamp.  "  Our  star,"  Anthony 
Dexter  had  been  wont  to  call  it,  as  they 
watched  for  it  in  the  scented  dusk.  For  him, 
perhaps,  it  had  been  indeed  the  love-star,  but 
she  had  followed  it,  with  breaking  heart,  into 
the  quicksands. 

To  shut  out  the  sight  of  it,  Miss  Evelina 
closed  the  blinds  and  lighted  a  candle,  then  sat 
down  again,  to  think. 


H  SLfttie  Ibour  of  TTtiumpb 


199 


There  was  a  dull,  uncertain  rap  at  the  door. 
Doctor  Ralph,  possibly — he  had  sometimes 
come  in  the  evening, — or  else  Miss  Hitty,  with 
some  delicacy  for  Araminta's  breakfast. 

Drawing  down  her  veil,  she  went  to  the  door 
and  opened  it,  thinking,  as  she  did  so,  that  lives 
were  often  wrecked  or  altered  by  the  opening 
or  closing  of  a  door. 

Anthony  Dexter  brushed  past  her  and  strode 
into  the  parlour.  Through  her  veil,  she  would 
scarcely  have  recognised  him — he  was  so 
changed.  Upon  the  instant,  there  was  a 
transformation  in  herself.  The  suffering, 
broken-hearted  woman  was  strangely  pushed 
aside — she  could  come  again,  but  she  must 
step  aside  now.  In  her  place  arose  a  veiled  ven 
geance,  emotionless,  keen,  watchful;  furtively 
searching  for  the  place  to  strike. 

"  Evelina,"  began  the  man,  without  pre 
liminary,  "  I  have  come  back.  I  have  come  to 
tell  you  that  I  am  a  coward — a  shirk/' 

Miss  Evelina  laughed  quietly  in  a  way  that 
stung  him.  "  Yes?"  she  said,  politely.  "  I  knew 
that.  You  need  not  have  troubled  to  come  and 
tell  me." 

He  winced.  "  Don't,"  he  muttered.  "  If  you 
knew  how  I  have  suffered!' 


B  little 
twur  of 
TEriumpb 


2OO 


H  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


a  -tittic 

•fcouv  of 
Uvfumpb 


"  I  have  suffered  myself/'  she  returned, 
coldly,  wondering  at  her  own  composure.  She 
marvelled  that  she  could  speak  at  all. 

"  Twenty-five  years  ago,"  he  continued  in  a 
parrot-like  tone,  "I  asked  you  to  marry  me,  and 
you  consented.  I  have  never  been  released  from 
my  promise — I  did  not  even  ask  to  be.  I  slunk 
away  like  a  cur.  The  honour  of  the  spoken 
word  still  holds  me.  The  tardy  fulfilment  of 
my  promise  is  the  only  atonement  I  can  make." 

The  candle-light  shone  on  his  iron-grey  hair, 
thinning  at  the  temples;  touched  into  bold 
relief  every  line  of  his  face. 

"  Twenty-five  years  ago,"  said  Evelina,  in  a 
voice  curiously  low  and  distinct,  "you  asked 
me  to  marry  you,  and  I  consented.  You  have 
never  been  released  from  your  promise — you 
did  not  even  ask  to  be."  The  silence  was 
vibrant;  literally  tense  with  emotion.  Out  of 
it  leaped,  with  passionate  pride:  "I  release 
you  now!" 

"No!"  he  cried.  "  I  have  come  to  fulfil  my 
promise — to  atone,  if  atonement  can  be  made!" 

"  Do  you  call  your  belated  charity  atone 
ment?  Twenty-five  years  ago,  I  saved  you 
from  death — or  worse.  One  of  us  had  to  be 
burned,  and  it  was  I,  instead  of  you.  I  chose 


H  Xittle  Ibour  of  ZEriumpb 


it,  not  deliberately,  but  instinctively,  because 
I  loved  you.  When  you  came  to  the  hospital, 
after  three  days " 

"  I  was  ill,"  he  interrupted.  "  The  gas " 

"  You  were  told,"  she  went  on,  her  voice  dom 
inating  his,  "that  I  had  been  so  badly  burned 
that  I  would  be  disfigured  for  life.  That 
was  enough  for  you.  You  never  asked  to  see 
me,  never  tried  in  any  way  to  help  me,  never 
sent  by  a  messenger  a  word  of  thanks  for  your 
cowardly  life,  never  even  waited  to  be  sure  it 
was  not  a  mistake.  You  simply  went  away." 

"  There  was  no  mistake,"  he  muttered, 
helplessly.  "  I  made  sure." 

He  turned  his  eyes  away  from  her  miserably. 
Through  his  mind  came  detached  fragments  of 
speech.  The  honour  of  the  spoken  word  still  holds 
him  .  .  .  Father  always  does  the  square 
thing  .  .  . 

"  I  am  asking  you,"  said  Anthony  Dexter, 
"to  be  my  wife.  I  am  offering  you  the  fulfil 
ment  of  the  promise  I  made  so  long  ago.  I  am 
asking  you  to  marry  me,  to  live  with  me,  to  be 
a  mother  to  my  son." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Evelina,  "  you  ask  me  to 
marry  you.  Would  you  have  a  scarred  and 
disfigured  wife  ?  A  man  usually  chooses  a 


302 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


m  little 

t)our  of 

Urfumpb 


beautiful  woman,  or  one  he  thinks  beautiful,  to 
sit  at  the  head  of  his  table,  manage  his  house, 
take  the  place  of  a  servant  when  it  is  necessary, 
accept  gladly  what  money  he  chooses  to  give 
her,  and  bear  and  rear  his  children.  Poor  thing 
that  I  am,  you  offer  me  this.  In  return,  I  offer 
you  release.  I  gave  you  your  life  once,  I  give 
you  freedom  now.  Take  your  last  look  at  the 
woman  who  would  not  marry  you  to  save  you 
from — hell!" 

The  man  started  forward,  his  face  ashen,  for 
she  had  raised  her  veil,  and  was  standing  full 
in  the  light. 

In  the  tense  silence  he  gazed  at  her,  fasci 
nated.  Every  emotion  that  possessed  him  was 
written  plainly  on  his  face  for  her  to  read.  'The 
night  of  realisation,"  she  was  saying,  "turned 
my  hair  white.  Since  I  left  the  hospital,  no 
human  being  has  seen  my  face  till  now.  I  think 
you  understand — why?" 

Anthony  Dexter  breathed  hard;  his  body 
trembled.  He  was  suffering  as  the  helpless  ani 
mals  had  suffered  on  the  table  in  his  laboratory. 
Evelina  was  merciless,  but  at  last,  when  he 
thought  she  had  no  pity,  she  lowered  her  veil. 

The  length  of  chiffon  fell  between  them 
eternally;  it  was  like  the  closing  of  a  door.  "I 


H  tHittie  Ifoour  of  TTriumpb 


2°3 


understand,"  he  breathed,  "oh,  I  understand.     » 

•fcour  of 

It  is  my  punishment — you  have  scored  at  last, 
Good " 

A  sob  drowned  the  last  word.  He  took  her 
cold  hand  in  his,  and,  bending  over  it,  touched 
it  with  his  quivering  lips. 

"  Yes/'  laughed  Evelina,  "kiss  my  hand, 
if  you  choose.  Why  not  ?  My  hand  was  not 
burned!" 

His  face  working  piteously,  he  floundered  out 
into  the  night  and  staggered  through  the  gate 
as  he  had  come — alone. 

The  night  wind  came  through  the  open  door, 
dank  and  cold.  She  closed  it,  then  bolted  it  as 
though  to  shut  out  Anthony  Dexter  for  ever. 

It  was  his  punishment,  he  had  said.  She  had 
scored  at  last.  If  he  had  suffered,  as  he  told 
her  he  had,  the  sight  of  her  face  would  be  tor 
ture.  Yes,  Evelina  knew  that  she  had  scored. 
From  her  hand  she  wiped  away  tears — a  man's 
hot,  terrible  tears. 

Through  the  night  she  sat  there,  wide-eyed 
and  sleepless,  fearlessly  unveiled.  The  chiffon 
trailed  its  misty  length  unheeded  upon  the 
floor.  The  man  she  had  loved  was  as  surely 
dead  to  her  as  though  he  had  never  been. 

Anthony  Dexter  was  dead.    True,  his  body 


204 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


B  Xtttlc 
Dour  of 
Urlumpb 


and  mind  still  lived,  but  he  was  not  the  man 
she  had  loved.  The  face  that  had  looked  into 
hers  was  not  the  face  of  Anthony  Dexter.  It 
had  been  cold  and  calm  and  cruel,  until  he 
came  to  her  house.  His  eyes  were  fish-like, 
and,  stirred  by  emotion,  he  was  little  less  than 
hideous. 

Her  suffering  had  been  an  obsession — there 
had  been  no  reason  for  it,  not  the  shadow  of  an 
excuse.  A  year,  as  the  Piper  said,  would  have 
been  long  enough  for  her  to  grieve.  She  saw 
her  long  sorrow  now  as  something  outside  of 
herself,  a  beast  whose  prey  she  had  been.  When 
Anthony  Dexter  had  proved  himself  a  coward, 
she  should  have  thanked  God  that  she  knew 
him  before  it  was  too  late.  And  because  she 
was  weak  in  body,  because  her  hurt  heart  still 
clung  to  her  love  for  him,  she  had  groped  in 
the  darkness  for  more  than  half  of  her  life. 

And  now  he  had  come  back!  The  blood  of 
triumph  surged  hard.  She  loved  him  no  longer; 
then,  why  was  she  not  free?  Her  chains  yet 
lay  heavily  upon  her;  in  the  midst  of  victory, 
she  was  still  bound. 

The  night  waned.  She  was  exhausted  by 
stress  of  feeling  and  the  long  vigil,  but  the  iron, 
icy  hand  that  had  clasped  her  heart  so  long 


H  Slittle  1bout  of  Uriumpb 


205 


did  not  for  a  moment  relax  its  hold.  She  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Stars  were  pal 
ing,  the  mysterious  East  had  trembled;  soon 
it  would  be  day. 

She  watched  the  dawn  as  though  it  were  for 
the  first  time  and  she  was  privileged  to  stand 
upon  some  lofty  peak  when  "God said:  'Let 
there  be  light/  and  there  was  light."  The  tapes 
try  of  morning  flamed  splendidly  across  the 
night,  reflecting  its  colour  back  upon  her  un 
veiled  face. 

From  far  away,  in  the  distant  hills,  whose 
summits  only  as  yet  were  touched  with  dawn, 
came  faint,  sweet  music — the  pipes  o'  Pan. 
She  guessed  that  the  Piper  was  abroad  with 
Laddie,  in  some  fantastic  spirit  of  sun-worship, 
and  smiled. 

Her  little  hour  of  triumph  was  over;  her  soul 
was  once  more  back  in  its  prison.  The  prison 
house  was  larger,  and  different,  but  it  was  still 
a  prison.  For  an  instant,  freedom  had  flashed 
before  her  and  dazed  her;  now  it  was  dark 
again. 

"Why?"  breathed  Evelina.  "Dear  God, 
why?" 

As  if  in  answer,  the  music  came  back  from 
the  hills  in  uncertain  silvery  echoes.  "Oh, 


H  little 

Douv  of 

Uriumpb 


206 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


H  little 
f)our  of 
Urtumpb 


pipes  o'  Pan,"  cried  Evelina,  choking  back  a 
sob,  "  I  pray  you,  find  me!  I  pray  you,  teach 
me  joy!" 


207 


XV 

State  of  Braminta's  Soul 


"T^HE  Reverend  Austin  Thorpe  was  in  his 
*  room  at  Miss  Mehitable's,  with  a  pencil 
held  loosely  in  his  wrinkled  hand.  On  the 
table  before  him  was  a  pile  of  rough  copy 
paper,  and  at  the  top  of  the  first  sheet  was 
written,  in  capitals,  the  one  word:  "Hell."  It 
was  underlined,  and  around  it  he  had  drawn 
sundry  fantastic  flourishes  and  shadings,  but 
the  rest  of  the  sheet  was  blank. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  old  man  had  sat 
there,  his  blue,  near-sighted  eyes  wandering 
about  the  room.  A  self-appointed  committee 
from  his  congregation  had  visited  him  and 
requested  him  to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  future 
abode  of  the  wicked.  The  wicked,  as  the  minis 
ter  gathered  from  the  frank  talk  of  the  commit 
tee,  included  all  who  did  not  belong  to  their 
own  sect. 

Try  as  he  might,  the  minister  could  find  in 


£be  State 
of  Bra* 
mfnta's 


2o8  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

trbestate  his  heart  nothing  save  charity.  Anger  and  re- 
minta'8  sentment  were  outside  of  his  nature.  He  told 
himself  that  he  knew  the  world,  and  had  ex 
perienced  his  share  of  injustice,  that  he  had 
seen  sin  in  all  of  its  hideous  phases.  Yet,  even 
for  the  unrepentant  sinner,  Thorpe  had  only 
kindness. 

Of  one  sin  only,  Thorpe  failed  in  compre 
hension.  As  he  had  said  to  Anthony  Dexter, 
he  could  excuse  a  liar,  pardon  a  thief,  and  pity 
a  murderer,  but  he  had  only  contempt  for  a 
shirk. 

Persistently,  he  analysed  and  questioned 
himself,  but  got  no  further.  To  him,  all  sin 
resolved  itself  at  last  into  injustice,  and  he  did 
not  believe  that  any  one  was  ever  intentionally 
unjust.  But  the  congregation  desired  to  hear 
of  hell — "  as  if,"  thought  Thorpe,  whimsically, 
"  I  received  daily  reports." 

With  a  sigh,  he  turned  to  his  blank  sheet. 
"  In  the  earlier  stages  of  our  belief,"  he  wrote, 
"  we  conceived  of  hell  as  literally  a  place  of 
fire  and  brimstone,  of  eternal  suffering  and 
torture.  In  the  light  which  has  come  to  us  later, 
we  perceive  that  hell  is  a  spiritual  state,  and 
realise  that  the  consciousness  of  a  sin  is  its 
punishment." 


ZTbe  State  of  Eramfnta's  Soul 


209 


Then  he  tore  the  sheet  into  bits,  for  this  was 
not  what  his  congregation  wanted;  yet  it  was 
his  sincere  belief.  He  could  not  stultify  himself 
to  please  his  audience — they  must  take  him 
as  he  was,  or  let  him  go. 

Yet  the  thought  of  leaving  was  unpleasant, 
for  he  had  found  work  to  do  in  a  field  where, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  he  was  sorely  needed.  His 
parishioners  had  heard  much  of  punishment, 
but  very  little  of  mercy  and  love.  They  were 
tangled  in  doctrinal  meshes,  distraught  by 
quibbles,  and  at  swords'  points  with  each 
other. 

He  felt  that  he  must  in  some  way  temporise, 
and  hold  his  place  until  he  had  led  his  flock  to  a 
loftier  height.  He  had  no  desire  to  force  his 
opinions  upon  any  one  else,  but  he  wished  to 
make  clear  his  own  strong,  simple  faith,  and 
spread  abroad,  if  he  might,  his  own  perfect 
trust. 

A  commanding  rap  resounded  upon  his  door. 
"  Come/'  he  called,  and  Mi- s  Mehi table  entered. 

Thorpe  was  not  subtle,  but  he  felt  that  this 
errand  was  of  deeper  import  than  usual,  The 
rustle  of  her  stiffly-starched  garments  was  por 
tentous,  and  there  was  a  set  look  about  her 
mouth  which  boded  no  good  to  anybody. 


Cbe  State 
of  Hra» 
mfnta's 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


tTbc  State 
of  Bra* 

mtnta'e 
Soul 


"  Will  you  sit  down?"  he  asked,  offering  her 
his  own  chair. 

"  No,"  snapped  Miss  Mehitable,  "  I  won't. 
What  I  've  got  to  say,  I  can  say  standin'.  I 
come,"  she  announced,  solemnly,  "  from  the 
Ladies'  Aid  Society." 

"  Yes?"  Thorpe's  tone  was  interrogative,  but 
he  was  evidently  not  particularly  interested. 

"  I  'm  appointed  a  committee  of  one,"  she 
resumed,  "to  say  that  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society 
have  voted  unanimously  that  they  want  you 
to  preach  on  hell.  The  Church  is  goin'  to  rack 
and  ruin,  and  we  ain't  goin'  to  stand  it  no 
longer.  Even  the  disreputable  characters  will 
walk  right  in  and  stay  all  through  the  sermon — 
Andy  Rogers  and  the  rest.  And  I  was  particu 
larly  requested  to  ask  whether  you  wished  to 
have  us  understand  that  you  approve  of  Andy 
Rogers  and  his  goin's  on." 

"  What,"  temporised  Thorpe,  "  does  Andy 
Rogers  do?" 

"For  the  lands  sake!"  ejaculated  Miss 
Mehitable.  "  Was  n't  he  drunk  four  months 
ago  and  was  n't  he  caught  stealing  the  Deacon's 
chickens?  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  never 
heard  of  that?" 

"I  believe  I  did  hear/'  returned  the  minister, 


State  of  Bramtnta's  Soul 


211 


in  polite  recognition  of  the  fact  that  it  had  been 
Miss  Mehitable's  sole  conversational  topic  at 
the  time.  "  He  stole  the  chickens  because  he 
was  hungry,  and  he  got  drunk  because  he 
did  n't  know  any  better.  I  talked  with  him, 
and  he  promised  me  that  he  would  neither 
steal  nor  drink  any  more.  Moreover,  he  earned 
the  money  and  paid  full  price  for  the  chickens. 
Have  you  heard  that  he  has  broken  his 
promise?  " 

"  No  I  dunno's  I  have,  but  he  '11  do  it  again 
if  he  gets  the  chance — you  just  see!" 

Thorpe  drummed  idly  on  the  table  with  his 
pencil,  wishing  that  Miss  Mehitable  would  go. 
He  had  for  his  fellow-men  that  deep  and  abid 
ing  love  which  enables  one  to  let  other  people 
alone.  He  was  a  humanitarian  in  a  broad  and 
admirable  sense. 

"  I  was  told,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "to  get  a 
definite  answer." 

Thorpe  bowed  his  white  head  ever  so 
slightly.  "  You  may  tell  the  Ladies'  Aid 
Society,  for  me,  that  next  Sunday  morn 
ing  I  will  give  my  congregation  a  sermon 
on  hell." 

"  I  thought  I  could  make  you  see  the  reason 
in  it,"  remarked  Miss  Mehitable,  piously  taking 


ttbe  State 

of  Bra* 

minta's 

Soul 


212 


Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


Ube  State 

of  Bras 

mfnta's 

Soul 


credit  to  herself,  "and  now  that  it  's  settled,  I 
want  to  speak  of  Araminta." 

"  She  's  getting  well  all  right,  is  n't  she?" 
queried  Thorpe,  anxiously.  He  had  a  tender 
place  in  his  heart  for  the  child. 

"  That 's  what  I  don't  know,  not  bein'  al 
lowed  to  speak  to  her  or  touch  her.  What  I  do 
know  is  that  her  immortal  soul  is  in  peril,  now 
that  she  's  taken  away  from  my  influence.  I 
want  you  to  get  a  permit  from  that  black 
mailing  play-doctor  that  's  curing  her,  or  pre 
tending  to,  and  go  up  and  see  her.  I  guess  her 
pastor  has  a  right  to  see  her,  even  if  her  poor 
old  aunt  ain't.  I  want  you  to  find  out 
when  she'll  be  able  to  be  moved,  and  talk 
to  her  about  her  soul,  dwellin'  particularly  on 
hell." 

Thorpe  bowed  again.  "  I  will  be  very  glad 
to  do  anything  I  can  for  Araminta." 

Shortly  afterward,  he  made  an  errand  to 
Doctor  Dexter's  and  saw  Ralph,  who  readily 
gave  him  permission  to  visit  his  entire  clientele. 

"  I  've  got  another  patient,"  laughed  the 
boy.  "My  practice  is  increasing  at  the  rate  of 
one  case  a  month.  If  I  were  n't  too  high- 
minded  to  dump  a  batch  of  germs  into  the 
water  supply,  I  'd  have  a  lot  more." 


TTbe  State  of  Hraminta's  Soul 


213 


"  How  is  Araminta?"  asked  Thorpe,  passing 
by  Ralph's  frivolity. 

"  She  's  all  right,"  he  answered,  his  sunny 
face  clouding.  "  She  can  go  home  almost  any 
time  now.  I  hate  to  send  her  back  into  her 
cage — bless  her  little  heart." 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  Thorpe  started 
up  the  hill,  to  observe  and  report  upon  the  state 
of  Araminta's  soul.  He  had  struggled  vainly 
with  his  own  problem,  and  had  at  last  decided 
to  read  a  fiery  sermon  by  one  of  the  early 
evangelists,  from  a  volume  which  he  happened 
to  have.  The  sermon  was  lurid  with  flame,  and 
he  thought  it  would  satisfy  his  congregation. 
He  would  preface  it  with  the  statement  that  it 
was  not  his,  but  he  hoped  they  would  regard  it 
as  a  privilege  to  hear  the  views  of  a  man  who 
was,  without  doubt,  wiser  and  better  than  he. 

Miss  Evelina  came  to  the  door  when  he 
rapped,  and  at  the  sight  of  her  veiled  face,  a 
flood  of  pity  overwhelmed  him.  He  introduced 
himself  and  asked  whether  he  might  see 
Araminta. 

When  he  was  ushered  into  the  invalid's 
room,  he  found  her  propped  up  by  pillows, 
and  her  hair  was  rioting  in  waves  about  her 
flushed  face.  A  small  maltese  kitten,  curled 


ttbe  State 

of  Hraa 

minta'6 

Soul 


2I4 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TEbe  State 

of  Bra« 

mtnta's 

Soul 


into  a  fluffy  ball,  slept  on  the  snowy  counter 
pane  beside  her.  Araminta  had  been  reading 
the  "  story  book"  which  Doctor  Ralph  had 
brought  her. 

"Little  maid,"  asked  the  minister,  "how  is 
the  ankle?" 

"  It  's  well,  and  to-morrow  I  'm  to  walk  on 
it  for  the  first  time.  Doctor  Ralph  has  been  so 
good  to  me — everybody  's  been  good." 

Thorpe  picked  up  the  book,  which  lay  face 
downward,  and  held  it  close  to  his  near-sighted 
eyes.  Araminta  trembled;  she  was  afraid  he 
would  take  it  away  from  her. 

All  that  day,  she  had  lived  in  a  new  land, 
where  men  were  brave  and  women  were  fair. 
Castle  towers  loomed  darkly  purple  in  the  sun 
set,  or  shone  whitely  at  noon.  Kings  and 
queens,  knights  and  ladies,  moved  sedately 
across  the  tapestry,  mounted  on  white  chargers 
with  trappings  of  scarlet  and  gold.  Long 
lances  shimmered  in  the  sun  and  the  armour 
of  the  knights  gave  back  the  light  an  hundred 
fold.  Strange  music  sounded  in  Araminta's 
ears — love  songs  and  serenades,  hymns  of 
battle  and  bugle  calls.  She  felt  the  rush  of 
conflict,  knew  the  anguish  of  the  wounded, 
and  heard  the  exultant  strains  of  victory. 


State  of  Braminta's  Soul 


215 


And  all  of  it — Araminta  had  greatly  mar 
velled  at  this — was  done  for  love,  the  love  of 
man  and  woman. 

A  knight  in  the  book  had  asked  the  lady  of 
his  heart  to  marry  him,  and  she  had  not  seen 
that  she  was  insulted,  nor  guessed  that  he 
was  offering  her  disgrace.  Araminta  wondered 
that  the  beautiful  lady  could  be  so  stupid,  but, 
of  course,  she  had  no  Aunt  Hitty  to  set  her 
right.  Far  from  feeling  shame,  the  lady's 
heart  had  sung  for  joy,  but  secretly,  since  she 
was  proud.  Further  on,  the  same  beautiful 
lady  had  humbled  her  pride  for  the  sake  of 
her  love  and  had  asked  the  gallant  knight  to 
marry  her,  since  she  had  once  refused  to  marry 
him. 

"Why,  Araminta!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Thorpe, 
greatly  surprised.  "  I  thought  Miss  Mehitable 
did  not  allow  you  to  read  novels/' 

"  A  novel!  Why.  no,  Mr.  Thorpe,  it  is  n't  a 
novel!  It 's  just  a  story  book.  Doctor  Ralph 
told  me  so." 

Austin  Thorpe  laughed  indulgently.  "A 
rose  by  any  other  name,"  he  said,  "  is — none 
the  less  a  rose.  Doctor  Ralph  was  right — it  is 
a  story  book,  and  I  am  right,  too,  for  it  is  also 
a  novel." 


Ubc  State 

of  Bra= 

mtnta's 

Soul 


216 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ttbe  State 

of  Bra« 

minta's 

Soul 


Araminta  turned  very  pale  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"  Mr.  Thorpe,"  she  said,  in  an  anguished 
whisper,  "will  I  be  burned?" 

"Why,  child,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  was  a  novel,"  sobbed 
Araminta.  "  I  thought  it  was  a  story  book. 
Aunt  Hitty  says  people  who  read  novels  get 
burned — they  writhe  in  hell  forever  in  the  lake 
of  fire." 

The  Reverend  Austin  Thorpe  went  to  the 
door  and  looked  out  into  the  hall.  No  one  was 
in  sight.  He  closed  the  door  very  gently  and 
came  back  to  Araminta's  bed.  He  drew  his 
chair  nearer  and  leaned  over  her,  speaking  in  a 
low  voice,  that  he  might  not  be  heard. 

"  Araminta,  my  poor  child,"  he  said,  "  per 
haps  I  am  a  heretic.  I  don't  know.  But  I  do 
not  believe  that  a  being  divine  enough  to  be 
a  God  could  be  human  enough  to  cherish  so 
fiendish  a  passion  as  revenge.  Look  up,  dear 
child,  look  up!" 

Araminta  turned  toward  him  obediently, 
but  she  was  still  sobbing. 

"It  is  a  world  of  mystery,"  he  went  on. 
"  We  do  not  know  why  we  come  nor  where  we 
go — we  only  know  that  we  come  and  that 


Hbe  State  of  Bramfnta's  Soul 


217 


eventually,  we  go.  Yet  I  do  not  think  that 
any  one  of  us  nor  any  number  of  us  have  the 
right  to  say  what  the  rest  of  us  shall  believe. 

"  I  cannot  think  of  Heaven  as  a  place 
sparsely  populated  by  my  own  sect,  with  a 
world  of  sinners  languishing  in  flames  below. 
I  think  of  Heaven  as  a  sunny  field,  where 
clover  blooms  and  birds  sing  all  day.  There 
are  trees,  with  long,  cool  shadows  where  the 
weary  may  rest;  there  is  a  crystal  stream 
where  they  may  forget  their  thirst.  I  do  not 
think  of  Heaven  as  a  place  of  judgment,  but 
rather  of  pardon  and  love. 

"  Punishment  there  is,  undoubtedly,  but  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  we  are  sufficiently 
punished  here  for  all  we  do  that  is  wrong.  We 
don't  intend  to  do  wrong,  Araminta — we  get 
tired,  and  things  and  people  worry  us,  and  we 
are  unjust.  We  are  like  children  afraid  in  the 
dark;  we  live  in  a  world  of  doubting,  we  are 
made  the  slaves  of  our  own  fears,  and  so  we 
shirk." 

"  But  the  burning,"  said  Araminta,  wiping 
her  eyes.  "Is  nobody  ever  to  be  burned?" 

"  The  God  I  worship,"  answered  Thorpe, 
passionately,  "  never  could  be  cruel,  but  there 
are  many  gods,  it  seems,  and  many  strange 


TTbe  State 

of  Bra= 

minta's 

Soul 


218 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TTbe  State 

of  Bra« 

minta'0 

Soul 


beliefs.  Listen,  Araminta.  Whom  do  you  love 
most?" 

"  Aunt  Hitty?"  she  questioned. 

"  No,  you  don't  have  to  say  that  if  it  is  n't 
so.  You  can  be  honest  with  me.  Who,  of  all 
the  world,  is  nearest  to  you?  Whom  would  you 
choose  to  be  with  you  always,  if  you  could 
have  only  one?" 

"Doctor  Ralph!"  cried  Araminta,  her  eyes 
shining. 

"  I  thought  so,"  replied  Thorpe.  "  I  don't 
know  that  I  blame  you.  Now  suppose  Doctor 
Ralph  did  things  that  hurt  you ;  that  there  was 
continual  misunderstanding  and  distrust.  Sup 
pose  he  wronged  you,  cruelly,  and  apparently 
did  everything  he  could  to  distress  you  and 
make  you  miserable.  Could  you  condemn  him 
to  a  lake  of  fire?" 

"  Why,  no!"  she  cried.  "  I  'd  know  he  never 
meant  to  do  it!" 

"  Suppose  you  knew  he  meant  it?"  persisted 
Thorpe,  looking  at  her  keenly. 

"Then,"  said  Araminta,  tenderly.  "I  'd  feel 
very,  very  sorry." 

"  Exactly,  and  why?  Because,  as  you  say, 
you  love  him.  And  God  is  love,  Araminta.  Do 
you  understand?" 


Ube  State  of  Braminta's  Soul 


219 


Upon  the  cramped  and  imprisoned  soul  of 
the  child,  the  light  slowly  dawned.  "  God  is 
love/'  she  repeated,  "and  nobody  would  burn 
people  they  loved." 

There  was  an  illuminating  silence,  then 
Thorpe  spoke  again.  He  told  Araminta  of  a 
love  so  vast  and  deep  that  it  could  not  be 
measured  by  finite  standards;  of  infinite  pity 
and  infinite  pardon.  This  love  was  every 
where;  it  was  impossible  to  conceive  of  a 
place  where  it  was  not — it  enveloped  not 
only  the  whole  world,  but  all  the  shining 
worlds  beyond.  And  this  love,  in  itself  and  of 
itself,  was  God. 

"This,"  said  Araminta,  touching  the  book 
timidly;  "is  it  bad?" 

"  Nothing  is  bad,"  explained  Thorpe,  care 
fully,  "which  does  not  harm  you  or  some  one 
else.  Of  the  two,  it  is  better  to  harm  yourself 
than  another.  How  does  the  book  make  you 
feel?" 

"  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  the  world  was  a  beau 
tiful  place,  and  as  if  I  ought  to  be  better,  so  I 
could  make  it  still  more  beautiful  by  living 
in  it." 

"  Then,  Araminta,  it  is  a  good  book." 

Thorpe  went  down-stairs  strangely  uplifted 


be  State 
of  Hra« 
tninta's 
Soul 


220 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Cbe  State 

of  Hra« 

minta's 

Soul 


To  him,  Truth  was  not  a  creed,  but  a  light 
which  illumined  all  creeds.  His  soul  was  aflame 
with  eagerness  to  help  and  comfort  the  whole 
world.  Miss  Evelina  was  waiting  in  the  hall, 
veiled  and  silent,  as  always. 

She  opened  the  door,  but  Thorpe  lingered, 
striving  vainly  for  the  right  word.  He  could 
not  find  it,  but  he  had  to  speak. 

"  Miss  Evelina/'  he  stammered,  the  high 
colour  mounting  to  his  temples,  "if  there  should 
ever  be  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  will  you  let 
me  know?" 

She  seemed  to  shrink  back  into  her  veil. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  at  length,  "  I  will."  Then, 
fearing  she  had  been  ungracious,  she  added: 
"  Thank  you." 

His  mood  of  exaltation  was  still  upon  him, 
and  he  wandered  long  in  the  woods  before 
going  home.  His  spirit  dwelt  in  the  high 
places,  and  from  the  height  he  gained  the 
broad  view. 

When  he  entered  the  house,  Miss  Mehitable 
was  waiting  for  him  with  a  torrent  of  ques 
tions.  When  he  had  an  opportunity  to  reply 
he  reported  that  he  had  seen  Doctor  Ralph 
and  Araminta  could  come  home  almost  any 
time,  now.  Yes,  he  had  talked  with  Araminta 


State  of  Hramtnta's  Soul 


221 


about  her  soul,  and  she  had  cried.  He 
thought  he  had  done  her  good  by  going,  and 
was  greatly  indebted  to  Miss  Mehitable  for  the 
suggestion. 


Cbe  State 

of  Bra* 

mfnta'0 

Soul 


222 


XVI 

flDarcb  of  tbe 


~\  UT  in  the  garden,  the  Piper  was  attending 

_J  to  his  belated  planting.  He  had  cleared 
the  entire  place,  repaired  the  wall,  and  made 
flower-beds  in  fantastic  shapes  that  pleased 
his  own  fancy.  To-day,  he  was  putting  in  the 
seeds,  while  Laddie  played  about  his  feet,  and 
Miss  Evelina  stood  by,  timidly  watchful. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  she  said,  "  why  you  take  so 
much  trouble  to  make  me  a  garden.  Nobody 
was  ever  so  good  to  me  before." 

The  Piper  laughed  and  paused  a  moment  to 
wipe  his  ruddy  face.  "  Did  nobody  ever  care 
before  whether  or  not  you  had  a  garden?" 

"  Never,"  returned  Evelina,  sadly. 

"Then  't  is  time  some  one  did,  so  Laddie  and 
I  have  come  to  make  it  for  you,  but  I  'm 
thinking  't  is  largely  for  ourselves,  too,  since 
the  doing  is  the  best  part  of  anything." 

Miss  Evelina  made  no  answer.    Speech  did 


jflDarcb  ot  tbe  5>aps  223 


not  come  easily  to  her  after  twenty-five  years 
of  habitual  repression. 

"  T  will  be  a  brave  garden/'  continued  the 
Piper,  cheerily.  "  Marigolds  and  larkspur  and 
mignonette;  phlox  and  lad's  love,  rosemary, 
lavender,  and  verbena,  and  many  another 
that  you  '11  not  guess  till  the  time  comes  for 
blossoming." 

"  Lad's  love  grew  in  my  garden  once," 
sighed  Evelina,  after  a  little.  "  It  was  sweet 
while  it  lasted — oh,  but  it  was  sweet!" 

She  spoke  so  passionately  that  the  Piper 
gathered  the  underlying  significance  of  her 
words. 

"  You  're  speaking  of  another  garden,  I 
think,"  he  ventured;  "  the  garden  in  your 
heart.  T  is  meet  that  lad's  love  should  grow 
there.  Are  you  sure  't  was  not  a  weed?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  weed,"  she  replied,  bitterly. 
"  The  mistake  was  mine." 

The  Piper  leaned  on  his  rake  thoughtfully. 
"  'T  is  hard,  I  think,"  he  said,  "  for  us  to  see 
that  the  mistakes  are  all  ours.  The  Gardener 
plants  rightly,  but  we  are  never  satisfied. 
When  sweet  herbs  are  meant  for  us,  we  ask  for 
roses,  and  't  is  not  every  garden  in  which  a 
rose  will  bloom.  If  we  could  keep  it  clean  of 


224 


a  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


ttbe 
dDarcb 
of  tbe 


weeds,  and  make  it  free  of  all  anger  and  dis 
trust,  there  'd  be  heartsease  there  instead  of 
thorns." 

"  Heartsease?"  asked  Evelina,  piteously. 
"  I  thought  there  was  no  more!  " 

"  Lady/'  said  the  Piper,  "  there  is  heartsease 
for  the  asking.  I  'm  thinking  't  is  you  who 
have  spoiled  your  garden." 

"No!"  cried  Evelina.  "  Believe  me,  it  was 
not  I!" 

"Who else?"  queried  the  Piper,  with  a  look 
which  made  her  shrink  farther  back  into  the 
shelter  of  her  chiffon.  "  Ah,  I  was  not  asking 
a  question  that  needed  an  answer;  I  do  not 
concern  myself  with  names  and  things.  But 
ask  this  of  yourself — is  there  sin  on  your  soul?" 

"  No,"  she  whispered,  "  unless  it  be  a  sin  to 
suffer  for  twenty-five  years." 

"  Another's  sin,  then?  You  're  grieving  be 
cause  another  has  done  wrong?  " 

"  Because  another  has  done  wrong  to  me." 

The  Piper  came  to  her  and  laid  his  hand  very 
gently  upon  hers.  There  was  reassurance  in 
the  friendly,  human  touch.  "  T  is  there,"  he 
said,  "  that  the  trouble  lies.  T  is  not  for  you 
to  suffer  because  you  are  wronged,  but  for  the 
one  who  has  wronged  you.  He  must  have  been 


flDarcb  of  tbe  Bass  225 


very  dear  to  you,  I  'm  thinking;  else  you  would 

not  hide  the  beauty  of  your  face."  of  tbe 

"  Beauty?"  repeated  Evelina,  scornfully. 
"  You  do  not  understand.  I  was  burned  — 
horribly  burned." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Piper,  softly,  "  and  what  of 
that?  Beauty  is  of  the  soul." 

He  went  out  to  the  gate  and  brought  in  a 
small,  flat  box.  "  T  is  for  you,"  he  said.  "  I 
got  it  for  you  when  I  went  to  the  city  —  there 
was  none  here." 

She  opened  the  box,  her  fingers  trembling, 
and  held  up  length  after  length  of  misty  white 
chiffon.  "  I  ask  no  questions,"  said  the  Piper, 
proudly,  "  but  I  know  that  because  you  are 
so  beautiful,  you  hide  your  face.  Laddie  and  I, 
we  got  more  of  the  white  stuff  to  help  you  hide 
it,  because  you  would  not  let  us  see  how  beauti 
ful  you  are." 

The  chiffon  fluttered  in  her  hand,  though 
there  was  no  wind.  "Why?"  she  asked,  in  a 
strange  voice;  "why  did  you  do  this?" 

"  You  gave  me  a  garden,"  laughed  the  Piper, 
"  when  I  had  no  garden  of  my  own,  so  why 
should  I  not  get  the  white  stuff  for  you  ?  T  was 
queer,  the  day  I  got  it,"  he  went  on,  chuckling 
at  the  recollection,  "for  I  did  not  know  its 


226 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 


of  tbc 


name.  Every  place  I  went,  I  asked  for  white 
stuff,  and  they  showed  me  many  kinds,  but 
nothing  like  this.  At  last  I  said  to  a  young  girl : 
'  What  is  it  that  is  like  a  cloud,  all  white  and 
soft,  which  one  can  see  through,  but  through 
which  no  one  can  be  seen — the  stuff  that  ladies 
wear  when  they  are  so  beautiful  that  they  do 
not  want  their  faces  seen?'  She  smiled,  and 
told  me  it  was  '  chiffon/  And  so — "  A  wave 
of  the  hand  finished  his  explanation. 

After  an  interval  of  silence,  the  Piper  spoke 
again.  "There  are  chains  that  bind  you,"  he 
began,  "  but  they  are  chains  of  your  own  forg 
ing.  No  one  else  can  shackle  you — you  must 
always  do  it  yourself.  Whatever  is  past  is  over, 
and  I  'm  thinking  you  have  no  more  to  do  with 
it  than  a  butterfly  has  with  the  empty  chrysalis 
from  which  he  came.  The  law  of  life  is  growth, 
and  we  cannot  linger — we  must  always  be  go 
ing  on. 

"  You  stand  alone  upon  a  height,"  he  said, 
dreamily,  "  like  one  in  a  dreary  land.  Behind 
you  all  is  darkness,  before  you  all  is  darkness; 
there  is  but  one  small  space  of  light.  In  that 
one  space  is  a  day.  They  come,  one  at  a  time, 
from  the  night  of  To-morrow,  and  vanish  into 
the  night  of  Yesterday. 


/IDarcb  of  tbe  2>a£5  227 


"  I  have  thought  of  the  days  as  men  and 

J  fliarcb 

women,  for  a  woman's  day  is  not  at  all  like  of  tbe 
a  man's.  For  you,  I  think,  they  first  were 
children,  with  laughing  eyes  and  little,  dim 
pled  hands.  One  at  a  time,  they  came  out  of 
the  darkness,  and  disappeared  into  the  dark 
ness  on  the  other  side.  Some  brought  vou 
flowers  or  new  toys  and  some  brought  you 
childish  griefs,  but  none  came  empty-handed. 
Each  day  laid  its  gift  at  your  feet  and  went  on. 

"  Some  brought  their  gifts  wrapped  up,  that 
you  might  have  the  surprise  of  opening  them. 
Many  a  gift  in  a  bright-hued  covering  turned 
out  to  be  far  from  what  you  expected  when 
you  were  opening  it.  Some  of  the  happiest 
gifts  were  hidden  in  dull  coverings  you  took 
off  slowly,  dreading  to  see  the  contents.  Some 
days  brought  many  gifts,  others  only  one. 

"As  the  days  grew  older,  some  brought  you 
laughter;  some  gave  you  light  and  love. 
Others  came  with  music  and  pleasure  —  and 
some  of  them  brought  pain." 

"Yes,"  sighed  Evelina,  "some  brought 
pain." 

"  It  is  of  that,"  went  on  the  Piper,  "that 
I  wished  to  be  speaking.  It  was  one  day,  was 
it  not,  that  brought  you  a  long  sorrow?  " 


228  a  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 

"Yes." 

"  Not  more  than  one?  Was  it  only  one  day?" 

"Yes,  only  one  day." 

"See,"  said  the  Piper,  gently,  "the  day 
came  with  her  gift.  You  would  not  let  her 
lay  it  at  your  feet  and  pass  on  into  the  dark 
ness  of  Yesterday.  You  held  her  by  her  grey 
garments  and  would  not  let  her  go.  You 
kept  searching  her  sad  eyes  to  see  whether 
she  did  not  have  further  pain  for  you.  Why 
keep  her  back  from  her  appointed  way? 
Why  not  let  your  days  go  by?" 

"The  other  days,"  murmured  Evelina, 
"  have  all  been  sad." 

"  Yes,  and  why?  You  were  holding  fast  to 
one  day — the  one  that  brought  you  pain. 
So,  with  downcast  eyes  they  passed  you,  and 
carried  their  appointed  gifts  on  into  Yesterday, 
where  you  can  never  find  them  again.  Even 
now,  the  one  day  you  have  been  holding  is 
struggling  to  free  herself  from  the  chains  you 
have  put  upon  her,  You  have  no  right  to 
keep  a  day." 

"  Should  I  not  keep  the  gifts?"  she  asked. 
His  fancy  pleased  her. 

"  The  gifts,  yes — even  the  gifts  of  tears,  but 
never  a  day.  You  cannot  hold  a  happy  day, 


TTbe  /IDarcb  of  tbe 


for  it  goes  too  quickly.  This  one  sad  day 
that  marched  so  slowly  by  you  is  the  one  you 
chose  to  hold.  Lady/'  he  pleaded,  "let  her 


"The  other  days,"  she  whispered,  brokenly. 
"  What  of  them?" 

"  No  man  can  say.  While  you  have  been 
holding  this  one,  the  others  have  passed  you, 
taking  your  gifts  into  Yesterday.  Memory 
guards  Yesterday,  but  there  is  a  veil  on  the 
face  of  To-morrow.  Sometimes  I  think  To 
morrow  is  so  beautiful  that  she  hides  her  face." 

"God  veils  her  face,"  cried  Evelina,  "or 
else  we  could  not  live!" 

"Lady,"  said  the  Piper,  "have  you  lived 
so  long  and  never  learned  this  simple  thing? 
Whatever  a  day  may  bring  you,  whatever 
terrible  gifts  of  woe,  if  you  search  her  closely, 
you  will  always  find  the  strength  to  meet  her 
face  to  face.  Overshadowed  by  her  burden 
of  bitterness,  one  fails  to  find  the  balm. 
Concealed  within  her  garments  or  held  loosely 
in  her  hand,  she  always  has  her  bit  of  conso 
lation;  rosemary  in  the  midst  of  her  rue, 
belief  with  the  doubt,  life  with  the  death." 

"  I  found  no  balm,"  murmured  Evelina, 
"  in  the  day  you  say  I  held." 


23o 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


of  tbe 


"  Had  there  been  no  secret  balm,  you  could 

J 

never  have  held  her  —  the  thorns  would  have 
pierced  your  hands.  Have  you  not  seen  that 
you  can  never  have  sorrow  until  you  have 
first  had  joy?  Happiness  is  the  light  and 
sadness  the  shade.  God  sets  you  right,  and 
you  stray  from  the  path,  into  the  shadow  of 
the  cypress." 

"The  cypress  casts  a  long  shadow/'  said 
Evelina,  pointing  to  the  tree  at  the  gate. 

The  Piper  smiled.  "  The  shadow  of  a  sorrow 
is  longer  than  the  sorrow,"  he  answered. 
"  The  shadow  of  one  day,  with  you,  has 
stretched  over  twenty-five  years.  '  T  is  ap 
proaching  night  that  makes  long  shadows; 
when  life  is  at  noon,  they  are  short.  When 
life  is  at  its  highest,  there  are  no  shadows  at  all." 

Miss  Evelina  sighed  and  leaned  uneasily 
against  the  wall. 

"This,  I'm  thinking,"  mused  the  Piper, 
"  is  the  inmost  truth  of  living  —  there  is  always 
a  balance  which  swings  true.  A  sorrow  is 
precisely  equal  to  a  joy,  and  the  shadow  can 
loom  no  larger  unless  the  light  slants.  And 
if  you  sit  always  in  the  sun,  the  shadow  that 
lies  behind  a  joy  can  be  scarcely  seen  at  all." 

A  faint  breath  of  Spring  stirred  Miss  Eve- 


Ube  /IDarcb  of  tbe  Baps  23i 

Una's  veil.  She  caught  at  it  and  tied  the  long 
floating  ends  about  her  neck. 

"  I  would  not  look,"  said  the  Piper,  softly. 
"  If  your  veil  should  blow  away,  I  would  close 
my  eyes  and  feel  my  way  to  the  gate.  Unless 
you  chose  to  have  me  see  your  beauty,  I 
would  never  ask,  nor  take  advantage  of  an 
accidental  opportunity.  I  'm  thinking  you 
are  very  beautiful,  but  you  need  never  be 
afraid  of  me." 

Miss  Evelina  did  not  reply;  she  only  leaned 
more  heavily  against  the  wall. 

"  Lady,"  he  continued,  "  perhaps  you  think 
I  do  not  know.  You  may  think  I  'm  talking 
blindly,  but  there  are  few  sorrows  in  the 
world  that  I  have  not  seen  face  to  face.  Those 
I  have  not  had  myself,  my  friends  have  had, 
and  I  have  been  privileged  to  share  with  them. 
The  sorrows  of  the  world  are  not  so  many — 
they  are  few,  and,  in  essence,  the  same. 

"  It  's  very  strange,  I  'm  thinking.  The 
little  laughing,  creeping  days  go  by  us,  then 
the  awkward  ones  that  bring  us  the  first 
footsteps,  then  childhood  comes,  and  youth, 
and  then  maturity.  But  the  days  have  begun 
to  grow  feeble  before  one  learns  how  to  meet 
them;  how  to  take  the  gifts  humbly,  scorning 


232 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


'Cbc        none,  and  how  to  make  each  day  give  up  its 

J   & 

secret  balm.  Memory,  the  angel  who  stands 
at  the  portal  of  Yesterday,  has  always  an 
inscrutable  smile.  She  keeps  for  us  so  many 
things  that  we  would  be  glad  to  spare,  and 
pushes  headlong  into  Yesterday  so  much  that 
we  fain  would  keep.  I  do  not  yet  know  all 
the  ways  of  Memory  —  I  only  know  that  she 
means  to  be  kind." 

"  Kind!"  repeated  Evelina.  Her  tone  was 
indescribably  bitter. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Piper,  "Memory  means 
to  be  kind  —  she  is  kind.  I  have  said  that  I 
do  not  know  her  ways,  but  of  that  I  am  sure. 
Lady,  I  would  that  you  could  let  go  of  the  day 
you  are  holding  back.  Cast  her  from  you,  and 
let  her  go  into  the  Yesterday  from  which  you 
have  kept  her  so  long.  Perhaps  Memory  will 
be  kinder  to  you  then,  for,  remember,  she 
stands  at  the  gate." 

"  I  cannot,"  breathed  Evelina.  "  I  have 
tried  and  I  cannot  let  her  go!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Piper,  very  gently,  "you 
can.  T  is  that,  I  'm  thinking,  that  has  set  your 
life  all  wrong.  Unclasp  your  hands  from  her 
rough  garments,  cease  to  question  her  closed 
eyes.  Take  her  gift  and  the  balm  that  in- 


Ube  flDarcb  of  tbe  Bass  233 

fallibly  comes  with  it;  meet  To-day  with 
kindness  and  To-morrow  with  a  brave  heart.  oftbc 

Wtt* 

Oh,  Spinner  in  the  Shadow,"  he  cried,  his 
voice  breaking,  "I  fain  would  see  you  a  Spin 
ner  in  the  Sun!" 

"  No,"  she  sighed,  "  I  have  been  in  the  dark 
too  long.  There  is  no  light  for  me." 

"There  is  light,"  he  insisted.  "When  you 
admit  the  shadow,  you  have  at  the  same  time 
acknowledged  the  light." 

Evelina  shook  her  head.  "Too  late,"  she 
said,  despairingly;  "it  is  too  late." 

"Ah,"  cried  the  Piper,  "if  you  could  only 
trust  me!  I  have  helped  many  a  soul  into 
the  sun  again." 

"I  trusted,"  said  Evelina,  "and  my  trust 
was  betrayed." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  know.  I  have 
trusted,  too,  and  I  have  been  betrayed,  also, 
but  I  know  that  the  one  who  wronged  me  must 
suffer  more  than  I." 

She  laughed;  a  wild,  fantastic  laugh. 
"The  one  who  wronged  me,"  she  said,  "has 
not  suffered  at  all.  He  married  in  a  year." 

"There  are  different  ways  of  suffering," 
he  explained  "With  a  woman,  it  is  most 
often  spread  out  over  a  long  period.  The 


234 


I  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


of  tbe 


quick,  clean-cut  stroke  is  seldom  given  to  a 
woman  —  she  suffers  less  and  longer  than  a 
man.  With  him,  I'm  thinking,  it  has  come, 
or  will  come,  all  at  once." 

"  If  it  does,"  she  cried,  her  frail  body  quiv 
ering,  "  what  a  day  for  him,  oh,  what  a  day!" 

Her  voice  was  trembling  with  the  hideous 
passion  for  revenge,  and  the  Piper  read  her, 
unerringly.  "Lady,"  he  said,  sadly,  "  't  is 
a  long  way  to  the  light,  but  I  'm  here  to  help 
you  find  it.  We  '11  be  going  now,  Laddie  and 
I,  but  we'll  come  back  soon." 

He  whistled  to  the  dog  and  the  two  went  off 
downhill  together.  She  watched  him  from 
the  gate  until  the  bobbing  red  feather  turned 
a  corner  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  the  cheery 
whistle  had  ceased. 

The  stillness  was  acute,  profound.  It  was 
so  deep  that  it  seemed  positive,  rather  than 
negative.  She  went  back  into  the  house,  her 
steps  dragging  painfully. 

As  in  a  vision  she  saw  the  days  passing  her 
while  she  stood  upon  a  height.  All  around 
her  were  bare  rocks  and  fearful  precipices; 
there  was  nothing  but  a  narrow  path  in  front. 
Day  by  day,  they  came,  peacefully,  content 
edly;  till  at  last  dawned  that  terrible  one 


flDarcb  of  tbe  Daps 


235 


which  had  blasted  her  life.  Was  it  true  that 
she  still  held  that  day  by  the  garment,  and 
could  not  unclasp  her  hands? 

One  by  one  they  had  passed  her,  leaving  no 
gifts,  because  she  still  clung  to  one.  If  she 
could  let  go,  what  gifts  would  the  others  bring? 
Joy?  Never  —  there  was  no  joy  in  the  world 
for  her. 

Sometime  that  mystical  procession  must 
come  to  an  end.  When  the  last  day  passed 
on,  she  would  follow,  too,  and  go  into  the 
night  of  Yesterday,  where,  perhaps,  there  was 
peace.  As  never  before,  she  craved  the  last 
gift,  praying  to  see  the  uplifted  head  and 
stately  figure  of  the  last  Day  —  grave,  silent, 
unfathomable,  tender;  the  Day  with  the 
veiled  face,  bearing  white  poppies  in  her  hands. 


oftbe 

2)8128 


236 


Boa 


XVII 

Xovefc  b\>  a  Dog 

ANTHONY  DEXTER  sat  on  the  porch  in 
front  of  his  house,  alone.  Ralph  had 
been  out  since  early  morning,  attending  to  his 
calls.  It  was  the  last  of  April  and  the  trees 
were  brave  in  their  panoply  of  new  leaves. 
Birds  were  singing  and  the  very  air  was 
eloquent  with  new  life. 

Between  Anthony  Dexter  and  the  lilac 
bush  at  the  gate,  there  moved  perpetually 
the  black,  veiled  figure  of  Evelina  Grey.  He 
knew  she  was  not  there  and  he  was  fully  certain 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  an  hallucination,  but 
his  assurance  had  not  done  away  with  the 
phantom. 

How  mercilessly  she  followed  him!  Since 
the  night  he  had  flung  himself  out  of  her  house, 
tortured  in  every  nerve,  she  had  not  for  a 
moment  left  him.  When  he  walked  through 
the  house,  she  followed  him,  her  stealthy 


a  E>og 


237 


footfall  sounding  just  the  merest  fraction  of  a 
second  after  his.  He  avoided  the  bare  polished 
floors  and  walked  on  the  rugs  whenever  poss 
ible,  that  he  might  not  hear  that  soft,  slow  step 
so  plainly.  Ralph  had  laughed  at  him,  once,  for 
taking  a  long,  awkward  jump  from  rug  to  rug. 

Within  the  line  of  his  vision  she  moved 
horizontally,  but  never  back  and  forth.  Some 
times  her  veiled  face  was  averted,  and  some 
times,  through  the  eternal  barrier  of  chiffon, 
he  could  feel  her  burning  eyes  fixed  pitilessly 
upon  his. 

He  never  slept,  now,  without  drugs.  Grad 
ually  he  had  increased  the  dose,  but  to  no 
purpose.  Evelina  haunted  his  sleep  endlessly 
and  he  had  no  respite.  Through  the  dull 
stupor  of  the  night,  she  was  never  for  a 
moment  absent,  and  in  every  horrible  dream, 
she  stood  in  the  foreground,  mute,  solitary, 
accusing. 

He  was  fully  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
in  the  clutches  of  a  drug  addiction,  but  that 
was  nothing  to  be  feared  in  comparison  with 
his  veiled  phantom.  He  had  exhausted  the 
harmless  soporifics  long  ago,  and  turned, 
perforce,  to  the  swift  and  deadly  ministers  of 
forgetfulness. 


loveb 


Bog 


238 


a  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


The  veiled  figure  moved  slowly  back  and 
forth  across  the  yard,  lifting  its  skirts  daintily 
to  avoid  a  tiny  pool  of  water  where  a  thirsty 
robin  was  drinking.  The  robin,  evidently, 
did  not  fear  Evelina.  He  could  hear  the  soft, 
slow  footfalls  on  the  turf,  and  the  echo  of 
three  or  four  steps  upon  the  brick  walk,  when 
she  crossed.  She  kept  carefully  within  the 
line  of  his  vision;  he  did  not  have  to  turn  his 
head  to  see  her.  When  he  did  turn  his  head, 
she  moved  with  equal  swiftness.  Not  for  a 
single  pitying  instant  was  she  out  of  his  sight. 

Farther  on,  doubtless,  as  he  thought,  she 
would  come  closer.  She  might  throw  back 
her  veil  as  she  had  done  on  that  terrible  night, 
or  lay  her  cold  hand  on  his — she  might  even 
speak  to  him.  What  hideous  conversations 
they  might  have — he  and  the  woman  he  had 
once  loved  and  to  whom  he  was  still  bound! 
Anthony  Dexter  knew  now  that  even  his 
marriage  had  not  released  him  and  that 
Evelina  had  held  him,  through  all  the  five-and- 
twenty  years. 

Such  happiness  as  he  had  known  had  been 
purely  negative.  The  thrill  of  joyous  life  had 
died,  for  him,  the  day  he  took  Evelina  into  the 
laboratory.  He  was  no  longer  capable  of 


caring  for  any  one  except  Ralph.    The  rem 
nant  of  his  cowardly  heart  was  passionately        s>oa 
and  wholly  given  to  his  son. 

He  meditated  laying  his  case  before  Ralph, 
as  one  physician  to  another,  then  the  inmost 
soul  of  him  shuddered  at  the  very  thought. 
Rather  than  have  Ralph  know,  he  would  die 
a  thousand  deaths.  He  would  face  the  utter 
most  depths  of  hell,  rather  than  see  those  clear, 
honest  eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  judgment. 

He  might  go  to  the  city  to  see  a  specialist — 
it  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  accomplish, 
and  Ralph  would  gladly  attend  to  his  work. 
Yes,  he  might  go — he  and  Evelina.  He 
could  go  to  a  brother  physician  and  say: 
"  This  woman  haunts  me.  She  saved  my  life 
and  continually  follows  me.  I  want  her 
kept  away.  What,  do  you  not  see  her,  too?" 

Anthony  Dexter  laughed  harshly,  and  fan 
cied  that  the  veiled  figure  paused  slightly  at 
the  sound.  "No,"  he  said,  aloud,  "you  need 
not  prepare  for  travel,  Evelina.  We  shall 
not  go  to  the  city— you  and  I." 

That  was  his  mate,  walking  in  his  garden 
before  him,  veiled.  She  was  his  and  he  was 
hers.  They  were  mated  as  two  atoms  of 
hydrogen  and  one  of  oxygen,  forming  a  mole- 


240  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

cule  of  water.  All  these  years,  her  suffering  had 
reacted  upon  him,  kept  him  from  being  happy, 
and  made  him  fight  continually  to  keep  her  out 
of  his  remembrance.  For  having  kept  her  out, 
he  was  paying,  now,  with  compound  interest. 

Upon  a  lofty  spire  of  granite  stands  a 
wireless  telegraph  instrument.  Fogs  are  thick 
about  it,  wild  surges  crash  in  the  unfathomable 
depths  below;  the  silence  is  that  of  chaos, 
before  the  first  day  of  creation.  Out  of  the 
emptiness,  a  world  away,  comes  a  message. 
At  the  first  syllable,  the  wireless  instrument 
leaps  to  answer  its  mate.  With  the  universe 
between  them,  those  two  are  bound  together, 
inextricably,  eternally  bound.  One  may 
fancy  that  a  disorder  in  one  might  cause  vague 
unrest  in  the  other.  In  like  manner,  Evelina's 
obsession  had  preyed  upon  Anthony  Dexter 
for  twenty-five  years.  Now,  the  line  was  at 
work  again  and  there  was  an  unceasing  flow 
of  communication. 

Perhaps,  if  he  had  the  strength,  he  might 
learn  to  ignore  the  phantom  as  he  had  ignored 
memory.  Eventually,  he  might  be  able  to 
put  aside  the  eternal  presence  as  he  had  put 
aside  his  own  cowardice.  There  was  in 
definite  comfort  in  the  thought. 


a  Bog  24i 


Having  preached  the  gospel  of  work  for  so 
long,  he  began  to  apply  it  to  himself.  Work 
was  undoubtedly  what  he  needed  —  the  one 
thing  which  could  set  him  right  again.  After 
a  little,  he  could  make  the  rounds  with  Ralph, 
and  dwell  constantly  in  the  boy's  sunny 
presence.  In  the  meantime,  there  was  his 
paper,  for  the  completion  of  which  one  more 
experiment  was  absolutely  essential. 

He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair.  He  wished 
that  Ralph  had  not  been  so  womanish,  or 
else  that  he  had  more  diplomatically  con 
cealed  his  own  opinions,  to  which,  indeed, 
Ralph  had  admitted  his  right.  Condem 
nation  from  Ralph  was  the  one  thing  he  could 
not  bear,  but,  after  all,  was  it  needful  that 
Ralph  should  know? 

The  experiment  would  not  take  long,  as  he 
wished  to  satisfy  himself  on  but  one  minor 
point.  It  could  be  done,  easily,  while  Ralph 
was  out  upon  his  daily  round.  Behind  the 
lilac  bushes  there  was  yet  room  for  one  more 
tiny  grave. 

One  more  experiment,  and  then,  in  deference 
to  Ralph's  foolish,  effeminate  sentiments,  he 
would  give  it  up.  One  more  heart  in  action, 
the  conclusion  of  his  brilliant  paper,  and  then  — 


242 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


b$  a 

2)00 


why,  he  would  be  willing  to  devote  the  rest 
of  his  life,  in  company  with  Ralph,  to  curing 
whooping-cough,  measles,  and  mumps. 

The  veiled  figure  still  paced  restlessly  back 
and  forth,  now  on  the  turf  and  now  on  the 
brick  walk.  He  closed  his  eyes,  but  he  still 
saw  Evelina  and  noted  the  slight  difference  of 
sound  in  her  footfalls  as  she  crossed  the  walk. 
He  heard  the  swish  of  her  skirts  as  she  lifted 
them  when  she  passed  the  pool  of  water — was 
it  possible  that  his  hearing  was  becoming  more 
keen?  He  was  sure  that  he  had  not  heard  it 
from  that  distance  before. 

It  was  certainly  an  inviting  yard  and  the 
gate  stood  temptingly  ajar.  The  gravelled 
highway  was  rough  for  a  little  dog's  feet,  and 
Laddie  and  the  Piper  had  travelled  far.  For 
many  a  mile,  there  had  been  no  water,  and  in 
this  cool,  green  yard,  there  was  a  small  pool. 
Laddie  whined  softly  and  nosed  the  gate 
farther  open. 

A  man  sat  on  the  porch,  but  he  was  asleep — 
anyhow,  his  eyes  were  closed.  Perhaps  he 
had  a  dog  of  his  own.  At  any  rate,  he  could 
not  object  to  a  tired  yellow  mongrel  quenching 
his  thirst  at  his  pool.  The  Piper  had  gone 


SLovefc  b£  a  Boo  243 

on  without  observing  that  his  wayworn  com 
panion  had  stopped. 

Except  for  a  mob  of  boys  who  had  thrown 
stones  at  him  and  broken  his  leg,  humans  had 
been  kind  to  Laddie.  It  had  been  a  human, 
Piper  Tom,  in  fact,  who  had  rescued  him  from 
the  boys  and  made  his  leg  good  again. 
Laddie  cherished  no  resentment  against  the 
mob,  for  he  had  that  eternal  forgiveness  of 
blows  and  neglect  which  lives  in  the  heart  of 
the  commonest  cur. 

Opening  his  eyes,  Anthony  Dexter  noted  that 
a  small,  rough-coated  yellow  dog  was  drinking 
eagerly  at  the  pool  of  water  past  which  Evelina 
continually  moved.  She  went  by  twice  while 
the  dog  was  drinking,  but  he  took  no  notice  of 
her.  Neither  robins  nor  dogs  seemed  to  fear 
Evelina — it  was  only  men,  or,  to  be  exact,  one 
man,  who  had  hitherto  feared  nothing  save 
self-analysis. 

The  turf  was  cool  and  soft  to  a  little  dog's 
tired  feet.  Laddie  walked  leisurely  toward  the 
shrubbery,  where  there  was  deep  and  quiet 
shade.  Under  the  lilac  bush,  he  lay  down 
to  rest,  but  was  presently  on  his  feet  again, 
curiously  exploring  the  place. 

He  sniffed  carefully  at  the  ground  behind 


244  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

the  lilac  bushes,  and  the  wiry  hair  on  his  back 
'  J 

bristled.  There  was  something  uncanny  about 
it,  and  a  guarding  instinct  warned  him  away. 
But  what  was  this  that  lay  on  the  ground,  so 
soaked  with  rains  that,  in  the  shade,  it  had  not 
yet  dried?  Laddie  dragged  it  out  into  the 
sunlight  to  see. 

It  was  small  and  square  and  soft  on  the 
outside,  yet  hard  within.  Except  for  the 
soft,  damp  outer  covering,  it  might  have  been 
the  block  of  pine  with  which  Piper  Tom  and 
he  would  play  by  the  hour.  The  Piper  would 
throw  the  block  of  wood  far  from  him,  some 
times  even  into  the  water,  and  Laddie  would 
race  after  it,  barking  gaily.  When  he  brought 
it  back,  he  was  rewarded  with  a  pat  on  the 
head,  or,  sometimes,  a  bone.  Always,  there 
would  be  friendly  talk.  Perhaps  the  man  on 
the  porch  had  thrown  this,  and  was  waiting 
for  him  to  bring  it  back. 

Laddie  took  the  mysterious  thing  carefully 
in  his  strong  jaws,  and  trotted  exultantly 
up  to  the  porch,  wagging  his  stub  of  a  tail. 
Strangely  enough,  just  at  the  steps,  the  thing 
opened,  and  something  small  and  cold  and 
snake-like  slipped  out.  The  man  could 
scarcely  have  seen  the  necklace  of  discoloured 


a  Bog 


245 


pearls  before,  with  an  oath,  he  rose  to  his  feet, 

b\>  a 

and,  firmly  holding  Laddie  under  his  arm, 
strode  into  the  house,  entering  at  the  side 
door. 

The  Piper  had  reached  home  before  he 
missed  his  dog.  He  waited  a  little,  then 
called,  but  there  was  no  answer.  It  was  not 
like  Laddie  to  stray,  for  he  was  usually  close 
at  his  master's  heels. 

"  Poor  little  man,"  said  the  Piper  to  himself, 
"  F  m  thinking  we  went  too  far." 

He  retraced  his  steps  over  the  dusty  road, 
searching  the  ground.  He  discovered  that 
Laddie's  tracks  ended  in  the  road  near  Doctor 
Dexter's  house,  and  turned  toward  the  gate. 
Tales  of  mysterious  horrors,  vaguely  hinted 
at,  came  back  to  him  now  with  ominous  force. 
He  searched  the  yard  carefully,  looking  in 
every  nook  and  corner,  then  a  cry  of  anguish 
reached  his  ears. 

Great  beads  of  sweat  stood  out  upon  Piper 
Tom's  forehead,  as  he  burst  in  at  the  labora 
tory  door.  On  a  narrow  table,  tightly  strapped 
down,  lay  Laddie,  fully  conscious,  his  faithful 
heart  laid  bare.  The  odour  of  anesthetics 
was  so  faint  as  to  be  scarcely  noticeable.  At 
the  dog's  side  stood  Doctor  Dexter,  in  a  blood- 


246  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

stained  linen  coat,  with  a  pad  of  paper  and  a 
short  pencil  in  his  white,  firm  hands.  He 
was  taking  notes. 

With  infinite  appeal  in  his  agonised  eyes, 
Laddie  recognised  his  master,  who  at  last  had 
come  too  late.  Piper  Tom  seized  the  knife 
from  the  table,  and,  with  a  quick,  clean  stroke, 
ended  the  torture.  Doctor  Dexter  looked  up, 
his  mask-like  face  wearing  an  expression  of 
insolent  inquiry. 

"Man,"  cried  the  Piper,  his  voice  shaking, 
"  have  you  never  been  loved  by  a  dog?" 

The  silence  was  tense,  but  Doctor  Dexter 
had  taken  out  his  watch,  and  was  timing  the 
spasmodic  pulsations  of  the  heart  he  had  been 
so  carefully  studying. 

"Aye/'  said  the  Piper,  passionately,  "watch 
it  till  the  last — you  cannot  hurt  him  now.  'T  is 
the  truest  heart  in  all  the  world  save  a  woman's, 
and  you  do  well  to  study  it,  having  no  heart 
of  your  own.  A  poor  beast  you  are,  if  a  dog 
has  never  loved  you.  Take  your  pencil  and 
write  down  on  the  bit  of  paper  you  have  there 
that  you  've  seen  the  heart  of  a  dog.  Write 
down  that  you  've  seen  the  heart  of  one  who 
left  his  own  kind  to  be  with  you,  to  fight  for 
you,  even  against  them.  Write  down  that  't  is 


a 


a  good  honest  heart  with  red  blood  in  it,  that 
never  once  failed  and  never  could  fail. 

"  When  a  man's  mother  casts  him  off,  when 
his  wife  forsakes  him,  when  his  love  betrays 
him,  his  dog  stays  true.  When  he's  poor 
and  his  friends  pass  him  by  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  looking  the  other  way,  his 
dog  fares  with  him,  ready  to  starve  with  him 
for  very  love  of  him.  T  is  a  man  and  his  dog, 
I  'm  thinking,  against  the  whole  world. 

"This  little  lad  here  was  only  a  yellow 
mongrel,  there  was  no  fine  blood  in  him;  he 
could  n't  bring  in  the  birds  nor  swim  after 
the  ducks  men  kill  to  amuse  themselves.  He 
was  worth  no  high  price  to  anybody — nobody 
wanted  him  but  me.  When  I  took  him  away 
from  the  boys  who  were  hurting  him,  and  set 
his  poor  broken  leg  as  best  I  could,  he  knew 
me  for  his  master  and  claimed  me  then. 

"  He  's  walked  with  me  through  four  States 
and  never  whined.  He  's  gone  without  food 
for  days  at  a  time,  and  never  complained. 
He  's  been  cold  and  hungry,  and  we  've  slept 
together,  more  than  once,  on  the  ground  in 
the  snow,  with  only  one  blanket  between  us. 
He  's  kept  me  from  freezing  to  death  with  his 
warm  body,  he  's  suffered  from  thirst  the  same 


248 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


as  I,  and  never  so  much  as  whimpered.  We  've 
been  comrades  and  we  've  fared  together,  as 
only  man  and  dog  may  fare. 

"When  every  man's  face  was  set  against  you, 
did  you  never  have  a  dog  to  trust  you?  When 
there  was  never  a  man  nor  a  woman  you  could 
call  your  friend,  did  a  dog  never  come  to  you 
and  lick  your  hand?  When  you  've  been  bent 
with  grief  you  could  n't  stand  up  under,  did  a 
dog  never  come  to  you  and  put  his  cold  nose 
on  your  face?  Did  a  dog  never  reach  out  a 
friendly  paw  to  tell  you  that  you  were  not 
alone — that  it  was  you  two  together? 

"  When  you  've  come  home  alone  late  at 
night,  tired  to  death  with  the  world  and  its 
ways,  was  there  never  a  dog  to  greet  you  with 
his  bark  of  welcome?  Did  a  dog  never  sit 
where  you  told  him  to  sit,  and  guard  your 
property  till  you  came  back,  though  it  might 
be  hours?  When  you  could  trust  no  man  to 
guard  your  treasures,  could  you  never  trust 
a  dog?  Man,  man,  the  world  has  fair  been 
cruel  if  you  've  never  known  the  love  of  a  dog! 

"  I  've  heard  these  things  of  you,  but  I 
thought  folks  were  prattling,  as  folks  will,  but 
dogs  never  do.  I  thought  they  were  lying 
about  you — that  such  things  could  n't  be  true. 


a    >oa  249 


They  said  you  were  cutting  up  dogs  to  learn 
more  of  people,  and  I  'm  thinking,  if  we  're 
so  much  alike  as  that,  't  is  murder  to  kill  a 
dog." 

"You  killed  him,"  said  Anthony  Dexter, 
speaking  for  the  first  time.  "  I  didn't." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Piper,  "  I  killed  him, 
but  't  was  to  keep  him  from  being  hurt.  I  'd 
do  the  same  for  a  man  or  a  woman,  if  there  was 
need.  If  't  was  a  child  you  had  tied  down  here 
with  your  blood-stained  straps,  cut  open  to 
see  an  innocent  heart,  your  own  being  black 
past  all  pardon,  I  'd  do  the  same  for  the  child 
and  all  the  more  quickly  if  it  't  was  my  own. 
I  never  had  a  child  —  I  've  never  had  a  woman 
to  love  me,  but  I  've  been  loved  by  a  dog. 
I  've  thought  that  even  yet  I  might  know  the 
love  of  a  woman,  for  a  man  who  deserves  the 
love  of  a  dog  is  worthy  of  a  woman,  and  a 
man  who  will  torture  a  dog  will  torture  a 
woman,  too. 

"Laddie,"  said  the  Piper,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  blood-stained  body,  "  no  man  ever 
had  a  truer  comrade,  and  I  '11  not  insult  your 
kind  by  calling  this  brute  a  cur.  Laddie,  it 
was  you  and  I  ,  and  now  it  's  I  alone.  Laddie  —  " 
here  the  Piper's  voice  broke,  and,  taking  up 


250  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

the  knife  again,  he  cut  the  straps.  With  the 
tears  raining  down  his  face,  he  stumbled  out 
of  the  laboratory,  the  mutilated  body  of  his 
pet  in  his  arms. 

Anthony  Dexter  looked  after  him  curiously. 
The  mask-like  expression  of  his  face  was 
slightly  changed.  In  a  corner  of  the  lab 
oratory,  seeming  to  shrink  from  him,  stood  the 
phantom  black  figure,  closely  veiled.  Out  of 
the  echoing  stillness  came  the  passionate 
accusation:  "A  man  who  will  torture  a  dog 
will  torture  a  woman,  too." 

He  carefully  removed  the  blood  stains  from 
the  narrow  table,  and  pushed  it  back  in  its 
place,  behind  a  screen.  The  straps  were  cut, 
and  consequently  useless,  so  he  wrapped  them 
up  in  a  newspaper  and  threw  them  into  the 
waste  basket.  He  cleaned  his  knife  with 
unusual  care,  and  wiped  an  ugly  stain  from 
his  forceps. 

Then  he  took  off  his  linen  coat,  folded  it  up, 
and  placed  it  in  the  covered  basket  which  held 
soiled  linen  from  the  laboratory.  He  washed 
his  hands  and  copied  the  notes  he  had  made, 
for  there  was  blood  upon  the  page.  He  tore 
the  original  sheet  into  fine  bits,  and  put  the 


a  s>o0  251 


pieces  into  the  waste  basket.    Then  he  put  on      5 
his  cuffs  and  his  coat,  and  went  out  of  the 
laboratory. 

He  was  dazed,  and  did  not  see  that  his  own 
self-torture  had  filled  him  with  primeval  lust 
to  torture  in  return.  He  only  knew  that  his 
brilliant  paper  must  remain  forever  incomplete, 
since  his  services  to  science  were  continually 
unappreciated  and  misunderstood.  What  was 
one  yellow  dog,  more  or  less,  in  the  vast  eco 
nomy  of  Nature?  Was  he  lacking  in  discern 
ment,  because,  as  Piper  Tom  said,  he  had 
never  been  loved  by  a  dog? 

He  sat  down  in  the  library  to  collect  himself 
and  observed,  with  a  curious  sense  of  detach 
ment,  that  Evelina  was  walking  in  the  hall 
instead  of  in  the  library,  as  she  usually  did 
when  he  sat  there. 

An  hour — or  perhaps  two — went  by,  then, 
unexpectedly,  Ralph  came  home,  having 
paused  a  moment  outside.  He  rushed  into 
the  library  with  his  face  aglow. 

"  Look,  Dad/'  he  cried,  boyishly,  hold 
ing  it  at  arm's  length;  "see  what  I  found 
on  the  steps!  It 's  a  pearl  necklace,  with  a 
diamond  in  the  clasp!  Some  of  the  stones 
are  discoloured,  but  they  're  good  and  can 


252  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

be  made  right  again.  I  've  found  it,  so  it 's 
mine,  and  I  'm  going  to  give  it  to  the  girl  I 
marry  !" 

Anthony  Dexter  s  pale  face  suddenly  became 
livid.  He  staggered  over  to  Ralph,  snatched 
the  necklace  out  of  his  hand,  and  ground  the 
pearls  under  his  heel.  "No,"  he  cried,  "a 
thousand  times,  no!  The  pearls  are  cursed!" 

Then,  for  the  second  time,  he  fainted. 


XVIII 


IT'S  almost  as  good  as  new!"  cried 
Araminta,  gleefully.  She  was  clad  in  a 
sombre  calico  Mother  Hubbard,  of  Miss 
Mehitable's  painstaking  manufacture,  and  hop 
ping  back  and  forth  on  the  bare  floor  of  her 
room  at  Miss  Evelina's. 

"Yes,"  answered  Doctor  Ralph,  "I  think 
it's  quite  as  good  as  new."  He  was  filled 
with  professional  pride  at  the  satisfactory 
outcome  of  his  first  case,  and  yet  was  not  at  all 
pleased  with  the  idea  of  Araminta's  returning 
to  Miss  Mehitable's,  as,  perforce,  she  soon 
must  do. 

"  Don  't  walk  any  more  just  now,"  he  said 
"  Come  here  and  sit  down.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

Araminta  obeyed  him  unquestioningly. 
He  settled  her  comfortably  in  the  haircloth 
easy-chair  and  drew  his  own  chair  closer. 


253 


254 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


There  was  a  pause,  then  she  looked  up  at  hira 
smiling  with  childish  wistfulness. 

"Are  you  sorry  it 's  well?"  he  asked. 

"  I — I  think  I  am,"  she  answered,  shyly, 
the  deep  crimson  dyeing  her  face. 

"I  can't  see  you  any  more,  you  know," 
said  Ralph,  watching  her  intently. 

The  sweet  face  saddened  in  an  instant  and 
Araminta  tapped  her  foot  restlessly  upon  the 
floor.  "Perhaps,"  she  returned,  slowly,  "Aunt 
Hitty  will  be  taken  sick.  Oh,  I  do  hope  she 
will!" 

"  You  miserable  little  sinner,"  laughed 
Ralph,  "  do  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that 
Aunt  Hitty  would  send  for  me  if  she  were  ill? 
Why,  I  believe  she  'd  die  first!" 

"Maybe  Mr.  Thorpe  might  be  taken  sick," 
suggested  Araminta,  hopefully.  "  He  's  old, 
and  sometimes  I  think  he  isn  't  very  strong." 

"  He  'd  insist  on  having  my  father.  You 
know  they  're  old  friends." 

"  Mr.  Thorpe  is  old  and  your  father  is  old," 
corrected  Araminta,  precisely,  "  but  they 
have  n't  been  friends  long.  Aunt  Hitty  says 
you  must  always  say  what  you  mean." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant.  Each  is  old  and 
both  are  friends.  See?" 


IHn&fne 


255 


"  It  must  be  nice  to  be  men,"  sighed  Ara- 
minta,  "and  have  friends.  I  've  never  had 
anybody  but  Aunt  Hitty — and  you/'  she 
added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"'No  money,  no  friends,  nothing  but  rela 
tives/"  quoted  Ralph,  cynically.  "  It 's  hard 
lines,  little  maid — hard  lines."  He  walked 
back  and  forth  across  the  small  room,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back — a  favourite  attitude, 
Araminta  had  noted,  during  the  month  of  her 
illness. 

He  pictured  his  probable  reception  should 
he  venture  to  call  upon  her.  Personally,  as  it 
was,  he  stood  none  too  high  in  the  favour  of 
the  dragon,  as  he  was  wont  to  term  Miss 
Mehitable  in  his  unflattering  thoughts.  More 
over,  he  was  a  man,  which  counted  heavily 
against  him.  Since  he  had  taken  up  his 
father's  practice,  he  had  heard  a  great  deal 
about  Miss  Mehitable's  view  of  marriage,  and 
her  determination  to  shield  Araminta  from 
such  an  unhappy  fate. 

And  Araminta  had  not  been  intended,  by 
Dame  Nature,  for  such  shielding.  Every  line 
of  her  body,  rounding  into  womanhood,  defied 
Aunt  Hitty's  well-meant  efforts.  The  soft 
curve  of  her  cheek,  the  dimples  that  lurked 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


unsuspected  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  the 
grave,  sweet  eyes  —  all  these  marked  Araminta 
for  love.  She  had,  too,  a  wistful,  appealing 
childishness. 

"  Did  you  like  the  story  book?"  asked 
Ralph. 

"Oh,  so  much!" 

"  I  thought  you  would.  What  part  of  it  did 
you  like  best?" 

"  It  was  all  lovely,"  replied  Araminta, 
thoughtfully,  "  but  I  think  the  best  part  of  it 
was  when  she  went  back  to  him  after  she  had 
made  him  go  away.  It  made  him  so  glad  to 
know  that  they  were  to  talk  together  again." 

Ralph  looked  keenly  at  Araminta,  the  love 
of  man  and  woman  was  so  evidently  outside 
her  ken.  The  sleeping  princess  in  the  tower 
had  been  no  more  set  apart.  But,  as  he 
remembered,  the  sleeping  princess  had  been 
wakened  by  a  kiss  —  when  the  right  man 
came. 

A  lump  came  into  his  throat  and  he  swal 
lowed  hard.  Blindly,  he  went  over  to  her 
chair.  The  girl's  flower-like  face  was  lifted 
questioningly  to  his.  He  bent  over  and  kissed 
her,  full  upon  the  lips. 

Araminta  shrank  from  him  a  little,  and  the 


257 


colour  surged  into  her  face,  but  her  eyes,  still 
trustful,  still  tender,  never  wavered  from  his. 

"  I  suppose  I  'm  a  brute,"  Ralph  said,  husk 
ily,  "  but  God  knows  I  have  n't  meant  to  be." 

Araminta  smiled — a  sweet,  uncomprehend 
ing  smile.  Ralph  possessed  himself  of  her 
hand.  It  was  warm  and  steady — his  own  was 
cold  and  tremulous. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "did  any  one  ever  kiss  you 
before?" 

"No,"  replied  Araminta;  "only  Aunt  Hitty. 
It  was  when  I  was  a  baby  and  she  thought  I 
was  lost.  She  kissed  me — here."  Araminta 
pointed  to  her  soft  cheek.  "  Did  you  kiss  me 
because  I  was  well?" 

Ralph  shook  his  head  despairingly.  "  The 
man  in  the  book  kissed  the  lady,"  went  on 
Araminta,  happily,  "because  he  was  so  glad 
they  were  to  talk  together  again,  but  we — 
why,  I  shall  never  see  you  any  more,"  she 
concluded,  sadly. 

His  fingers  tightened  upon  hers.  "  Yes," 
he  said,  in  a  strange  voice,  "we  shall  see  each 
other  again." 

"They  both  seem  very  well,"  sighed  Ara 
minta,  referring  to  Aunt  Hitty  and  Mr.  Thorpe, 
"  and  even  if  I  fell  off  of  a  ladder  again,  it 


258  H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

•cin&fnc  might  not  hurt  me  at  all.  I  have  fallen  from 
lots  of  places  and  only  got  black  and  blue.  I 
never  broke  before/' 

"  Listen,  child,"  said  Ralph.  "  Would  you 
rather  live  with  Aunt  Hitty,  or  with  me?" 

"  Why,  Doctor  Ralph!  Of  course  I  'd  rather 
live  with  you,  but  Aunt  Hitty  would  never 
let  me!" 

"  We  're  not  talking  about  Aunt  Hitty  now. 
Is  there  anyone  in  the  world  whom  you  like 
better  than  you  do  me?" 

"No, "said  Araminta,  softly,  her  eyes  shin 
ing.  "  How  could  there  be?" 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Araminta?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  sweetly,  "  of  course  I 
do!  You  've  been  so  good  to  me!" 

The  tone  made  the  words  meaningless. 
"  Child,"  said  Ralph,  "  you  break  my  heart." 

He  walked  back  and  forth  again,  restlessly, 
and  Araminta  watched  him,  vaguely  troubled. 
What  in  the  world  had  she  done? 

Meanwhile,  he  was  meditating.  He  could 
not  bear  to  have  her  go  back  to  her  prison, 
even  for  a  little  while.  Had  he  found  her  only 
to  lose  her,  because  she  had  no  soul? 

Presently  he  came  back  to  her  and  stood  by 
her  chair.  "  Listen,  dear,"  he  said,  tenderly. 


259 


"  You  told  me  there  was  no  one  in  the  world 
for  whom  you  cared  more  than  you  care  for  me. 
You  said  you  loved  me,  and  I  love  you — God 
knows  I  do.  If  you  '11  trust  me,  Araminta, 
you  '11  never  be  sorry,  never  for  one  single 
minute  as  long  as  you  live.  Would  you  like 
to  live  with  me  in  a  little  house  with  roses 
climbing  over  it,  just  us  two  alone?" 

"  Yes,"  returned  Araminta,  dreamily,  "  and 
I  could  keep  the  little  cat." 

"  You  can  have  a  million  cats,  if  you  like, 
but  all  I  want  is  you.  Just  you,  sweetheart, 
to  love  me,  with  all  the  love  you  can  give  me. 
Will  you  come?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Araminta,  "if  Aunt  Hitty 
would  only  let  me,  but  she  never  would!" 

"  We  won 't  ask  her,"  returned  Ralph. 
"  We  '11  go  away  to-night,  and  be  married." 

At  the  word,  Araminta  started  out  of  her 
chair.  Her  face  was  white  and  her  eyes  wide 
with  fear.  "I  couldn't,"  she  said,  with 
difficulty .  "  You  should  n't  ask  me  to  do 
what  you  know  is  wrong.  Just  because  my 
mother  was  married,  because  she  was  wicked — 
you  must  net  think  that  I  would  be  wicked, 
too." 

Hot  words  were  struggling  for  utterance, 


260 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


THn&ine 


but  Ralph  choked  them  back.  The  fog  was 
thick  before  him  and  he  saw  Araminta  as 
through  a  heavy  veil.  "Undine,"  he  said, 
moistening  his  parched  lips,  "  some  day  you 
will  find  your  soul.  And  when  you  do,  come 
to  me.  I  shall  be  waiting." 

He  went  out  of  the  room  unsteadily,  and 
closed  the  door.  He  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  for  a  long  time  before  he  went  down. 
Apparently  there  was  no  one  in  the  house. 
He  went  into  the  parlour  and  sat  down,  wiping 
the  cold  sweat  from  his  forehead,  and  trying 
to  regain  his  self-control. 

He  saw,  clearly,  that  Araminta  was  not  in 
the  least  to  blame;  that  almost  ever  since  her 
birth,  she  had  been  under  the  thumb  of  a 
domineering  woman  who  persistently  incul 
cated  her  own  warped  ideas.  Since  her  earliest 
childhood,  Araminta  had  been  taught  that 
marriage  was  wrong — that  her  own  mother 
was  wicked,  because  she  had  been  married. 
And  of  the  love  between  man  and  woman,  the 
child  knew  absolutely  nothing. 

"  Good  God!"  muttered  Ralph.  "  My  little 
girl,  oh,  my  little  girl!"  Man-like,  he  loved 
her  more  than  ever  because  she  had  denied 
him;  man-like,  he  wanted  her  now  as  he  had 


TUn&fne  261 


never  wanted  her  before.  Through  the  weeks 
that  he  had  seen  her  every  day,  he  had  grown 
to  feel  his  need  of  her,  to  hunger  for  the  sweet 
ness  of  her  absolute  dependence  upon  him. 
Yet,  until  now,  he  had  not  guessed  how  deeply 
he  cared,  nor  guessed  that  such  caring  was 
possible. 

He  sat  there  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour, 
slowly  regaining  command  of  himself.  Miss 
Evelina  came  through  the  hall  and  paused 
just  outside  the  door,  feeling  intuitively  that 
some  one  was  in  the  house.  She  drew  down 
her  veil  and  went  in. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone,"  she  said.  "  Did 
you  wish  to  see  me?" 

"  No/'  returned  Ralph,  wearily;  "  not  espe 
cially." 

She  sat  down  opposite  him  silently.  All 
her  movements  were  quiet,  for  she  had  never 
been  the  noisy  sort  of  woman.  There  was 
something  soothing  in  the  veiled  presence. 

"  I  hope  I  'm  not  intruding,"  ventured 
Ralph,  at  length.  "  I  '11  go,  presently.  I  've 
just  had  a — well,  a  blow.  That  little  saint 
upstairs  has  been  taught  that  marriage  is 
wicked." 

"  I  know,"  returned  Miss  Evelina,  instantly 


262 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


comprehending.  "  Mehitable  has  very  strange 
ideas.  I  'm  sorry,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  she 
might  have  used  in  speaking  to  Anthony 
Dexter,  years  before. 

Her  sympathy  touched  the  right  chord.  It 
was  not  obtrusive,  it  had  no  hint  of  pity;  it  was 
simply  that  one  who  had  been  hurt  fully 
understood  the  hurt  of  another.  Ralph  felt 
a  mysterious  kinship. 

"  I  've  wanted  for  some  time  to  ask  you," 
he  began  awkwardly,  "  if  there  was  not  some 
thing  I  could  do  for  you.  The — the  veil,  you 
know — "  He  stopped,  at  a  loss  for  further 
words. 

"  Yes?"  Miss  Evelina's  voice  was  politely 
inquiring.  She  thought  it  odd  for  Anthony 
Dexter's  son  to  be  concerned  about  her  veil. 
She  wondered  whether  he  meditated  giving  her 
a  box  of  chiffon,  as  Piper  Tom  had  done. 

"  Believe  me,"  he  said,  impetuously,  "  I 
only  want  to  help.  I  want  to  make  it  possible 
for  you  to  take  that — to  take  that  thing  off." 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  returned  Miss  Evelina, 
after  a  painful  interval.  "  I  shall  always 
wear  my  veil." 

"  You  don  't  understand,"  explained  Ralph. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  spent  the  day 


TUnMne 


telling  women  they  did  not  understand.  "  I 
know,  of  course,  that  there  was  some  dreadful 
accident,  and  that  it  happened  a  long  time  ago. 
Since  then,  wonderful  advances  have  been 
made  in  surgery — there  is  a  great  deal  possible 
now  that  was  not  dreamed  of  then.  Of  course 
I  should  not  think  of  attempting  it  myself, 
but  I  would  find  the  man  who  could  do  it,  take 
you  to  him,  and  stand  by  you  until  it  was  over." 

The  clock  ticked  loudly  and  a  little  bird  sang 
outside,  but  there  was  no  other  sound. 

"  I  want  to  help  you,"  said  Ralph,  humbly, 
as  he  rose  to  his  feet;  "believe  me,  I  want  to 
help  you." 

Miss  Evelina  said  nothing,  but  she  followed 
him  to  the  door.  At  the  threshold,  Ralph 
turned  back.  "  Won't  you  let  me  help  you?" 
he  asked.  "  Won't  you  even  let  me  try?" 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Evelina,  coldly, 
"  but  nothing  can  be  done." 

The  door  closed  behind  him  with  a  portent 
ous  suggestion  of  finality.  As  he  went  down 
the  path,  Ralph  felt  himself  shut  out  from  love 
and  from  all  human  service.  He  did  not  look 
back  to  the  upper  window,  where  Araminta 
was  watching,  her  face  stained  with  tears. 

As  he  went  out  of  the  gate,  she,  too,  felt 


264 


H  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


shut  out  from  something  strangely  new  and 
sweet,  but  her  conscience  rigidly  approved, 
none  the  less.  Against  Aunt  Hitty's  moral 
precepts,  Araminta  leaned  securely,  and  she 
was  sure  that  she  had  done  right. 

The  Maltese  kitten  was  purring  upon  a 
cushion,  the  loved  story  book  lay  on  the  table 
nearby.  Doctor  Ralph  was  going  down  the 
road,  his  head  bowed.  They  would  never  see 
each  other  again — never  in  all  the  world. 

She  would  not  tell  Aunt  Hitty  that  Doctor 
Ralph  had  asked  her  to  marry  him;  she  would 
shield  him,  even  though  he  had  insulted  her. 
She  would  not  tell  Aunt  Hitty  that  Doctor 
Ralph  had  kissed  her,  as  the  man  in  the  story 
book  had  kissed  the  lady  who  came  back  to 
him.  She  would  not  tell  anybody.  "  Never 
in  all  the  world,"  thought  Araminta.  "We 
shall  never  see  each  other  again." 

Doctor  Ralph  was  out  of  sight,  now,  and 
she  could  never  watch  for  him  any  more.  He 
had  gone  away  forever,  and  she  had  broken  his 
heart.  For  the  moment,  Araminta  straight 
ened  herself  proudly,  for  she  had  been  taught 
that  it  did  not  matter  whether  one's  heart 
broke  or  not — one  must  always  do  what  was 
right.  And  Aunt  Hitty  knew  what  was  right. 


TUnMne 


265 


Suddenly,  she  sank  on  her  knees  beside  her 
bed,  burying  her  face  in  the  pillow,  for  her 
heart  was  breaking,  too.  "Oh,  Lord,"  she 
prayed,  sobbing  wildly,  "  keep  me  from  the 
contamination  of  marriage,  for  Thy  sake. 
Amen." 

The  door  opened  silently,  a  soft,  slow  step 
came  near.  The  pillow  was  drawn  away  and 
a  cool  hand  was  laid  upon  Araminta's  burning 
cheek.  "Child/'  said  Miss  Evelina,  "what  is 
wrong?" 

Araminta  had  not  meant  to  tell,  but  she  did. 
She  sobbed  out,  in  disjointed  fragments,  all 
the  sorry  tale.  Wisely,  Miss  Evelina  waited 
until  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  secretly 
wishing  that  she,  too,  might  know  the  relief 
of  tears. 

"I  knew,"  said  Miss  Evelina,  her  cool,  quiet 
hand  still  upon  Araminta's  face.  "  Doctor 
Ralph  told  me  before  he  went  home." 

"Oh,"  cried  Araminta,  "does  he  hate 
me?" 

"Hate  you?"  repeated  Miss  Evelina.  "  Dear 
child,  no.  He  loves  you.  Would  you  believe  me, 
Araminta,  if  I  told  you  that  it  was  not  wrong 
to  be  married — that  there  was  no  reason  in  the 


Un&ine 


266 


B  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


world  why  you  should  not  marry  the  man  who 
loves  you?" 

"  Not  wrong!"  exclaimed  Araminta,  incredu 
lously.  "Aunt  Hitty  says  it  is.  My  mother 
was  married!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Evelina,  "and  so  was  mine. 
Aunt  Hitty's  mother  was  married,  too." 

"Are  you  sure?"  demanded  Araminta. 
"  She  never  told  me  so.  If  her  mother  was 
married,  why  did  n't  she  tell  me?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear,"  returned  Miss 
Evelina,  truthfully.  "Mehitable's  ways  are 
strange."  Had  she  been  asked  to  choose,  at 
the  moment,  between  Araminta's  dense  ignor 
ance  and  all  of  her  own  knowledge,  embracing, 
as  it  did,  a  world  of  pain,  she  would  have 
chosen  gladly,  the  fuller  life. 

The  door-bell  below  rang  loudly,  defiantly. 
It  was  the  kind  of  a  ring  which  might  impel 
the  dead  to  answer  it.  Miss  Evelina  fairly 
ran  downstairs. 

Outside  stood  Miss  Mehitable.  Unwillingly, 
in  her  wake,  had  come  the  Reverend  Austin 
Thorpe.  Under  Miss  Mehitable's  capable  and 
constant  direction,  he  had  made  a  stretcher 
out  of  the  clothes  poles  and  a  sheet.  He  was 
jaded  in  spirit  beyond  all  words  to  express, 


"dnMne  267 


but  he  had  come,  as  Roman  captives  came,      ian&fne 
chained  to  the  chariot  wheels  of  the  conqueror. 
"Me   and   the   minister,"  announced  Miss 
Mehitable,  imperiously,  "  have  come  to  take 
Minty  home!" 


268 


Untbe 


XIX 

•fln  tbe  Sbabow  of  tbe  Cypress 


T 


HE  house  seemed  lonely  without  Ara- 
minta.  Miss  Evelina  missed  the  child 
more  than  she  had  supposed  she  could  ever 
miss  any  one.  She  had  grown  to  love  her, 
and,  too,  she  missed  the  work. 

Miss  Evelina's  house  was  clean,  now,  and 
most  of  the  necessary  labour  had  been  per 
formed  by  her  own  frail  hands.  The  care  of 
Araminta  had  been  an  added  burden,  which 
she  had  borne  because  it  had  been  forced  upon 
her.  Slowly,  but  surely,  she  had  been  com 
pelled  to  take  thought  for  others. 

The  promise  of  Spring  had  come  to  beauti 
ful  fulfilment,  and  the  world  was  all  abloom. 
Faint  mists  of  May  were  rising  from  the  earth, 
and  filmy  clouds  half  veiled  the  moon.  The 
loneliness  of  the  house  was  unbearable,  so 
Miss  Evelina  went  out  into  the  garden,  her 
veil  fluttering,  moth-like,  about  her  head. 


Un  tbe  Sbafcow  of  tbe  Cypress 


269 


way,  it  was  changed.  She  had  come  again 
into  the  field  of  service.  Miss  Mehitable  had 
been  kind  to  her,  indeed,  more  than  kind. 
The  Piper  had  made  her  a  garden,  and  she 
had  taken  care  of  Araminta.  Doctor  Ralph, 
meaning  to  be  wholly  kind,  had  offered  to  help 
her,  if  he  could,  and  she  had  been  on  the  point 
of  doing  a  small  service  for  him,  when  Fate, 
in  the  person  of  Miss  Mehitable,  intervened. 
And  over  and  above  and  beyond  all,  Anthony 
Dexter  had  come  back,  to  offer  her  tardy 
reparation. 

That  hour  was  continually  present  with  her. 
She  could  not  forget  his  tortured  face  when 
she  had  thrown  back  her  veil.  What  if  she  had 
taken  him  at  his  word,  and  gone  with  him,  to 
be,  as  he  said,  a  mother  to  his  son?  Miss 
Evelina  laughed  bitterly. 

The  beauty  of  the  night  brought  her  no 
peace  as  she  wandered  about  the  garden. 
Without  knowing  it,  she  longed  for  human 
companionship.  Piper  Tom  had  finished  his 
work,  Doctor  Ralph  would  come  no  more, 
Araminta  had  gone,  and  Miss  Mehitable  offered 
little  comfort. 

She  went  to  the  gate  and  leaned  upon  it, 


The  old  pain  was  still  at  her  heart,  yet,  in  a 

Sbafcow 


of  tbe 


270 


H  Sptnner  in  tbe  Sun 


f  n  tbe 

Sba&ow 

of  tbe 


looking  down  the  road.  Thus  she  had  watched 
for  Anthony  Dexter  in  years  gone  by.  Mem 
ories,  mercilessly  keen,  returned  to  her.  As 
though  it  were  yesterday,  she  remembered  the 
moonlit  night  of  their  betrothal,  felt  his  eager 
arms  about  her  and  his  bearded  cheek  pressed 
close  to  hers.  She  heard  again  the  music  of  his 
voice  as  he  whispered,  passionately:  "I  love 
you,  oh,  I  love  you— for  life,  for  death,  for  all 
eternity1/' 

The  rose-bush  had  been  carefully  pruned  and 
tied  up,  but  it  promised  little,  at  best.  The 
cypress  had  grown  steadily,  and,  at  times, 
its  long  shadow  reached  through  the  door  and 
into  the  house.  Heavily,  too,  upon  her  heart, 
the  shadow  of  the  cypress  lay,  for  sorrow  seems 
so  much  deeper  than  joy. 

A  figure  came  up  the  road,  and  she  turned 
away,  intending  to  go  into  the  house.  Then 
she  perceived  that  it  was  Piper  Tom,  and, 
drawing  down  her  veil,  turned  back  to  wait 
for  him.  He  had  never  come  at  night 
before. 

Even  in  the  darkness,  she  noted  a  change  in 
him;  the  atmosphere  of  youth  was  all  gone. 
He  walked  slowly,  as  though  he  had  aged,  and 
the  red  feather  no  longer  bobbed  in  his  hat. 


tfn  tbe  Sbafcow  of  tbe  depress 


271 


He  went  past  her  silently,  and  sat  down  on  the 
steps. 

"  Will  you  come  in?"  asked  Evelina. 

"  No,"  answered  the  Piper,  sadly,  "I  '11  not 
be  coming  in.  T  is  selfish  of  me,  perhaps,  but 
I  came  to  you  because  I  had  sorrow  of  my  own." 

Miss  Evelina  sat  down  on  the  step  beside 
him,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"  T  is  a  small  sorrow,  perhaps,  you  '11  be 
thinking,"  he  said,  at  last.  "I  'm  not  knowing 
what  great  ones  you  have  seen,  face  to  face, 
but  't  is  so  ordered  that  all  sorrows  are  not  the 
same.  T  is  all  in  the  heart  that  bears  them.  I 
told  you  I  had  known  them  all,  and  at  the  time, 
I  was  thinking  I  spoke  the  truth.  A  woman 
never  loved  me,  and  so  I  have  lost  the  love  of 
no  woman,  but,"  he  went  on  with  difficulty, 
"no  one  had  ever  killed  my  dog." 

"How?"  asked  Miss  Evelina,  dully.  It 
seemed  a  matter  of  small  moment  to  her. 

"  I  '11  not  be  paining  you  with  that,"  the 
Piper  answered.  "At  the  last,  't  was  I  who 
killed  him  to  save  him  from  further  hurt. 
T  was  the  best  I  could  do  for  the  little  lad,  and 
I  'm  thinking  he  'd  take  it  from  me  rather  than 
from  any  one  else.  I  'm  missing  his  cheerful 
bark  and  his  pleasant  ways,  but  I  've  taken 


fln  tbe 

Sbafcow 
of  tbe 

Cypress 


272 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Un  tbe 
Sbafcow 
of  tbe 


him  away  for  ever  from  Doctor  Dexter  and  his 
kind." 

"Doctor  Dexter!"  Evelina  sprang  to  her 
feet,  her  body  tense  and  quivering. 

"  Aye,  Doctor  Dexter — not  the  young  man, 
but  the  old  one." 

A  deep-drawn  breath  was  her  only  answer, 
but  the  Piper  looked  up,  startled.  Slowly  he 
rose  to  his  feet  and  leaned  toward  her  intently, 
as  though  to  see  her  face  behind  her  veil. 

"Spinner  in  the  Shadow/'  he  said,  with 
infinite  tenderness,  "  I  'm  thinking  't  was  he 
who  hurt  you,  too!  " 

Evelina's  head  drooped,  she  swayed,  and 
would  have  fallen,  had  he  not  put  his  arm 
around  her.  She  sat  down  on  the  step  again, 
and  hid  her  veiled  face  in  her  hands. 

"  T  was  that,  I  'm  thinking,  that  brought 
me  to  you,"  he  went  on.  "  I  knew  you  did  not 
care  much  for  the  little  lad — he  was  naught 
to  any  one  but  me.  T  is  this  that  binds  us 
together — you  and  I." 

The  moon  climbed  higher  into  the  heavens 
and  the  clouds  were  blown  away.  The  shadow 
of  the  cypress  was  thrown  toward  them,  and 
the  dense  night  of  it  concealed  the  half-open 
door. 


flu  tbe  Sbafcow  of  tbe  Cypress 


273 


"See,"  breathed  Evelina,  "the  shadow  of 
the  cypress  is  long." 

"Aye,"  answered  Piper  Tom,  "the  shadow 
of  the  cypress  is  long  and  the  rose  blooms 
but  once  a  year.  '  T  is  the  way  of  the 
world." 

He  loosened  his  flute  from  the  cord  by  which 
it  was  slung  over  his  shoulder.  "  I  was  going 
to  the  woods,"  he  said,  "  but  at  the  last,  I 
could  not,  for  the  little  lad  always  fared  with 
me  when  I  went  out  to  play.  He  would  sit 
quite  still  when  I  made  the  music,  so  still  that 
he  never  frightened  even  the  birds.  The 
birds  came,  too. 

"'Tis  away  I've  had  for  long,"  he  continued. 
"I  never  could  be  learning  the  printed  music, 
so  I  made  music  of  my  own.  So  many  laughed 
at  it,  not  hearing  any  tune,  that  I  've  always 
played  by  myself.  T  was  my  own  soul  breath 
ing  into  it — perhaps  I  'm  not  to  blame  that  it 
never  made  a  tune. 

"  Sometimes  I  'm  thinking  that  there  may  be 
tunes  and  tunes.  I  was  once  in  a  place  where 
there  were  many  instruments,  all  playing  at 
once,  and  there  was  nothing  came  from  it  that 
one  could  call  a  tune.  But  't  was  great  and 
beautiful  beyond  any  words  of  mine  to  tell  you, 


IFn  tbe 
Sbabow 
of  tbe 


274 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


trn  tbe  and  the  master  of  them  all,  standing  up  in 
front,  knew  just  when  each  must  play. 

"  Most,  of  course,  I  watched  the  one  who 
played  the  flute  and  listened  to  the  voice  of  it. 
T  is  strange  how,  if  you  listen,  you  can  pick  out 
one  instrument  from  all  the  rest.  I  saw  that 
sometimes  he  did  not  play  at  all,  and  yet  the 
music  went  on.  Sometimes,  again,  he  was 
privileged  to  play  just  a  note  or  two  —  not  at  all 
like  a  tune. 

"  T  was  just  his  part,  and,  by  itself,  it  would 
have  sounded  queer.  I  might  have  laughed 
at  it  myself  if  I  did  not  know,  and  was  listening 
for  a  tune.  But  the  master  of  them  all  was 
pleased,  because  the  man  with  the  flute  made 
his  few  notes  to  sing  rightly  when  they  should 
sing  and  because  he  kept  still  when  there  was 
no  need  of  his  instrument. 

"  So  I'm  thinking,"  concluded  the  Piper, 
humbly,  "that  these  few  notes  of  mine  may 
belong  to  something  I  cannot  hear,  and  that 
the  Master  himself  leads  me,  when  't  is  time  to 
play." 

He  put  the  instrument  to  his  lips  and  began 
to  play  softly.  The  low,  sweet  notes  were, 
as  he  said,  no  evident  part  of  a  tune,  yet  they 
were  not  without  a  deep  and  tender  appeal. 


1Fn  tbe  Sbafcow  ot  tbe  Cypress 


275 


Evelina  listened,  her  head  still  bowed.     It 

did  not  sound  like  the  pipes  o'  Pan,  but  rather 

Cypress 

like  some  fragment  of  a  mysterious,  heart 
breaking  melody.  Faint,  far  echoes  rang  back 
from  the  surrounding  hills,  as  though  in  a 
distant  forest  cathedral  another  Piper  sat 
enthroned. 

The  sound  of  singing  waters  murmured 
through  the  night  as  the  Piper's  flute  breathed 
of  stream  and  sea.  There  was  the  rush  of  a 
Summer  wind  through  swaying  branches,  the 
tinkle  of  raindrops,  the  deep  notes  of  rising 
storm.  Moonlight  shimmered  through  it,  birds 
sang  in  green  silences,  and  there  was  scent  of 
birch  and  pine. 

Then  swiftly  the  music  changed.  Through 
the  utter  sadness  of  it  came  also  a  hint  of  peace, 
as  though  one  had  planted  a  garden  of  roses 
and  instead  there  had  come  up  herbs  and  balm. 
In  the  passionate  pain,  there  was  also  uplifting 
— a  flight  on  broken  wings.  Above  and  beyond 
all  there  was  a  haunting  question,  to  which 
the  answer  seemed  lost. 

At  length  the  Piper  laid  down  his  flute. 
"  You  do  not  laugh,"  he  said,  "and  yet  I  'm 
thinking  you  may  not  care  for  music  that  has 
no  tune." 


276 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


IFn  tbe 
Sbafrow 
of  tbe 


"  I  do  care,"  returned  Evelina. 

"  I  remember,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "It 
was  the  day  in  the  woods,  when  I  called  you 
and  you  came." 

"  I  was  hurt,"  she  said.  "  I  had  been  ter 
ribly  hurt,  only  that  morning." 

"  Yes,  many  have  come  to  me  so.  Often 
when  I  have  played  in  the  woods  the  music 
that  has  no  tune,  some  one  who  was  very  sad 
has  come  to  me.  I  saw  you  that  day  from 
far  and  I  felt  you  were  sad,  so  I  called  you. 
I  called  you,"  he  repeated,  lingering  on  the 
words,  "  and  you  came." 

"I  do  not  so  much  care  for  the  printed 
music,"  he  went  on,  after  an  interval,  "un 
less  it  might  be  the  great,  beautiful  music 
which  takes  so  many  to  play.  I  have  often 
thought  of  it  and  wondered  what  might  happen 
if  the  players  were  not  willing  to  follow  the 
master — if  one  should  play  a  tune  where  no 
tune  was  written,  and  he  who  has  the  violin 
should  insist  on  playing  the  flute. 

"  I  would  not  want  the  violin,  for  I  think  the 
flute  is  best  of  all.  It  is  made  from  the  trees  on 
the  mountains  and  the  silver  hidden  within, 
and  so  is  best  fitted  for  the  message  of  the 
mountains — the  great,  high  music. 


flit  tbe  Sbafcow  of  tbe  depress 


"  I  'm  thinking  that  the  life  we  live  is  not 
unlike  the  players.  We  have  each  our  own 
instrument,  but  we  are  not  content  to  follow 
as  the  Master  leads.  We  do  not  like  the  low, 
long  notes  that  mean  sadness;  we  will  not  take 
what  is  meant  for  us,  but  insist  on  the  dancing 
tunes  and  the  light  music  of  pleasure.  It  is  this 
that  makes  the  discord  and  all  the  confusion. 
The  Master  knows  his  meaning  and  could  we 
each  play  our  part  well,  at  the  right  time,  there 
would  be  nothing  wrong  in  all  the  world." 

Miss  Evelina  sighed,  deeply,  and  the  Piper 
put  his  hand  on  hers. 

"  I  'm  not  meaning  to  reproach  you,"  he 
said,  kindly,  "  though,  truly,  I  do  think  you 
have  played  wrong.  In  any  music  I  have 
heard,  there  has  never  been  any  one  instrument 
that  has  played  all  the  time  and  sadly.  When 
there  is  sadness,  there  is  always  rest,  and  you 
have  had  no  rest." 

"No,"  said  Evelina,  her  voice  breaking,  "  I 
have  had  no  rest — God  knows  that!" 

"Then  do  you  not  see,"  asked  the  Piper 
Very  gently,  "  that  you  cannot  help  but  make 
the  music  wrong?  The  Master  gives  you  one 
deep  note  to  play,  and  you  hold  it,  always  the 
same  note,  till  the  music  is  at  an  end. 


in  tbe 

Sbafcow 

of  tbe 


278 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


1fn  tbe 

Sba&ow 
of  tbe 


"  T  is  something  wrong,  I  'm  thinking,  that 
has  made  you  hold  it  so.  I  'm  not  asking  you 
to  tell  me,  but  I  think  that  one  day  I  shall  see. 
Together  we  shall  find  what  makes  the  music 
wrong,  and  together  we  shall  make  it  right 
again." 

"Together/ 'repeated  Evelina,  unconsciously. 
Once  the  word  had  been  sweet  to  her,  but  now 
it  brought  only  bitterness. 

"Aye,  together.  Tis  for  that  I  stayed. 
Laddie  and  I  were  going  on,  that  very  day 
we  saw  you  in  the  wood — the  day  I  called  you, 
and  you  came.  I  shall  see,  some  day, 
what  has  made  it  wrong — yes,  Spinner 
in  the  Shadow,  I  shall  see.  I  'm  grieving 
now  for  Laddie  and  my  heart  is  sore,  but 
when  I  have  forgiven  him,  I  shall  be  at 
rest." 

"  Forgiven  who?"  queried  Evelina. 

"  Why,  the  man  who  hurt  Laddie — the  same, 
I  'm  thinking,  who  hurt  you.  But  your  hurt 
was  worse  than  Laddie's,  I  take  it,  and  so  't  is 
harder  to  forgive." 

Evelina's  heart  beat  hard.  Never  before 
had  she  thought  of  forgiving  Anthony  Dexter. 
She  put  it  aside  quickly  as  altogether  impos 
sible.  Moreover,  he  had  not  asked. 


flu  tbe  Sbafcow  of  tbe 


279 


"What  is  it  to  forgive?"  she  questioned, 
curiously. 

"The  word  is  not  made  right/'  answered 
the  Piper,  "  I  'm  thinking 't  is  wrong  end  to,  as 
many  things  in  this  world  are  until  we  move 
and  look  at  them  from  another  way.  It's 
giving  for,  that 's  all.  When  you  have  put 
self  so  wholly  aside  that  you  can  be  sorry  for 
him  because  he  has  wronged  you,  why,  then, 
you  have  forgiven." 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  that,"  she 
returned.  "Why,  I  should  not  even  try." 

"Ah,"  cried  the  Piper,  "  I  knew  that  some 
day  I  should  find  what  was  wrong,  but  I  did  not 
think  it  would  be  now.  T  is  because  you  have 
not  forgiven  that  you  have  been  sad  for  so  long. 
When  you  have  forgiven,  you  will  be  free." 

"  He  never  asked,"  muttered  Evelina. 

"No;  'tis  very  strange,  I  'm  thinking,  but 
those  who  most  need  to  be  forgiven  are  those 
who  never  ask.  T  is  hard,  I  know,  for  I  cannot 
yet  be  sorry  for  him  because  he  hurt  Laddie — 
I  can  only  be  sorry  for  Laddie,  who  was  hurt. 
But  the  great  truth  is  there.  When  I  have 
grown  to  where  I  can  be  sorry  for  him  as  well 
as  for  Laddie,  why,  my  grieving  will  be  done. 

"The  little  chap,"  mused  the  Piper,  fondly, 


IFntbe 
Sbafcow 
of  tbe 

Cypress 


280 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Un  tbe 

Sbat>ow 

of  tbe 


"  he  was  a  faithful  comrade.  Twas  a  true 
heart  that  the  brute — ah,  what  am  I  saying  i 
j  »u  not  be  forgetting  how  he  fared  with  me  in 
sun  and  storm,  sharing  a  crust  with  me,  often, 
as  man  to  man,  and  not  complaining,  because 
we  were  together.  A  woman  never  loved  me 
but  a  dog  has,  and  I  'm  thinking  that  some  day 
I  may  have  the  greater  love  because  I  've  been 
worthy  of  the  less. 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  born  and, 
because  of  that,  I  've  tried  to  make  the  world 
easier  for  all  women.  I  'in  not  thinking  I 
have  wholly  failed,  yet  the  great  love  has  not 
come.  I  Ve  often  thought,"  went  on  Piper 
Tom,  simply,  "  that  if  a  woman  waited  for  me 
at  night  when  I  went  home,  with  love  on  her 
face,  and  if  a  woman's  hand  might  be  in  mine 
when  the  Master  tells  me  that  I  am  no  longer 
needed  for  the  music,  't  would  make  the 
leaving  very  easy,  and  I  should  not  ask  for 
Heaven. 

"  I  've  seen,  so  often,  the  precious  jewel  of  a 
woman's  love  cast  aside  by  a  man  who  did  not 
know  what  he  had,  having  blinded  himself 
with  tinsel  until  his  true  knowledge  was  lost. 
You  '11  forgive  me  for  my  rambling  talk,  I  'm 
thinking,  for  I  'm  still  grieving  for  the  lit- 


flu  tbe  Sbafcow  of  tbe  Cypress 


281 


tie   chap,  and  I  cannot  say  yet  that  I  have 

,, 

forgiven. 

He  rose,  slung  his  flute  over  his  shoulder 
again,  and  went  slowly  toward  the  gate. 
Evelina  followed  him,  to  the  cypress  tree. 

"  See,"  he  said,  turning,  "  the  shadow  of  the 
cypress  is  long.  Tis  because  you  have  not 
forgiven.  I  'm  thinking  it  may  be  easier  for 
us  to  forgive  together,  since  it  is  the  same  man." 

"Yes,"  returned  Evelina,  steadily,  "the 
shadow  of  the  cypress  is  long,  and  I  never 
shall  forgive." 

"  Aye,"  said  the  Piper,  "  we  '11  forgive  him 
together  —  you  and  I.  I  '11  help  you,  since 
your  hurt  is  greater  than  mine.  You  have 
veiled  your  soul  as  you  have  veiled  your  face, 
but,  through  forgiveness,  the  beauty  of  the 
one  will  shine  out  again,  and,  I  'm  thinking, 
through  love,  the  other  may  shine  out,  too. 
You  have  hidden  your  face  because  you  are  so 
beautiful;  you  have  hidden  your  soul  because 
you  are  so  sad.  1  called  you  in  the  woods,  and 
I  call  you  now.  I  shall  never  cease  calling, 
until  you  come." 

He  went  out  of  the  gate,  and  did  not  answer 
her  faint  "good-night."  Was  it  true,  as  he 
said,  that  he  should  never  cease  calling  her? 


of  tbe 

Cypress 


282 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  £3un 


Un  tbe 
Sbaoow 
of  tbe 

Cypress 


Something  in  her  spirit  stirred  strangely  at  his 
appeal,  as  a  far,  celestial  trumpet  blown  from 
on  high  might  summon  the  valiant  soul  of  a 
warrior  who  had  died  in  the  charge. 


283 


XX 

Secret  of  the  Deil 

"F?ATHER,"  said  Ralph,  pacing  back  and 

1  forth,  as  was  his  habit,  "  I  have 
wanted  for  some  time  to  ask  you  about  Miss 
Evelina — the  woman,  you  know,  in  the  little 
house  on  the  hill.  She  always  wears  a  veil 
and  there  can  be  no  reason  for  it  except  some 
terrible  disfigurement.  Has  she  never  con 
sulted  you?" 

"Never,"  answered  Anthony  Dexter,  with 
dry  lips. 

"  I  remember,  you  told  me,  but  it  seems 
strange.  I  spoke  to  her  about  it  the  other  day. 
I  told  her  I  was  sure  that  something  could  be 
done.  I  offered  to  find  the  best  available 
specialist  for  her,  go  with  her,  and  stand  by 
her  until  it  was  over." 

Anthony  Dexter  laughed — a  harsh,  unnatural 
laugh  that  jarred  upon  his  son. 


Secret 
oftbe 


IDeil 


284  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 

"  I  fail  to  see  anything  particularly  funny 
ot  tbc      about  i t, "  remarked  Ralph,  coldly. 

Veil 

"  What  did  she  say?"  asked  his  father,  not 
daring  to  meet  Ralph's  eyes. 

"  She  thanked  me,  and  said  nothing  could 
be  done." 

"  She  did  n't  show  you  her  face,  I  take  it." 

"No." 

"  I  should  have  thought  she  would,  under  the 
circumstances — under  all  the  circumstances." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  face?"  asked  Ralph, 
quickly,  "  by  chance,  or  in  any  other  way?" 

"Yes." 

"  How  is  it?  Is  it  so  bad  that  nothing  can 
be  done?" 

"She  was  perfectly  right,"  returned  Anthony 
Dexter,  slowly.  "  There  is  nothing  to  be  done." 

At  the  moment,  the  phantom  Evelina  was 
pacing  back  and  forth  between  the  man  and 
his  son.  Her  veiled  face  was  proudly  turned 
away.  "  I  wonder,"  thought  Anthony  Dexter, 
curiously,  "  if  she  hears.  If  she  did,  though, 
she  'd  speak,  or  throw  back  her  veil,  so  she 
does  n't  hear." 

"I  may  be  wrong,"  sighed  Ralph,  "but 
I  've  always  believed  that  nothing  is  so  bad 
it  can't  be  made  better." 


Secret  of  tbe  Deil  285 


"The  unfailing  ear-mark  of  Youth,  my 
son,"  returned  Anthony  Dexter,  patronisingly. 
"  You  '11  get  over  that." 

He  laughed  again,  gratingly,  and  went  out, 
followed  by  his  persistent  apparition.  "  We  '11 
go  out  for  a  walk,  Evelina,"  he  muttered, 
when  he  was  half-way  to  the  gate.  "  We  '11 
see  how  far  you  can  go  without  getting  tired." 
The  fantastic  notion  of  wearying  his  veiled 
pursuer  appealed  to  him  strongly. 

Ralph  watched  his  father  uneasily.  Even 
though  he  had  been  relieved  of  the  greater  part 
of  his  work,  Anthony  Dexter  did  not  seem  to 
be  improving.  He  was  morose,  unreasonable, 
and  given  to  staring  vacantly  into  space  for 
hours  at  a  time.  Ralph  often  spoke  to  him 
when  he  did  not  hear  at  all,  and  at  times  he 
turned  his  head  from  left  to  right  and  back 
again,  slowly,  but  with  the  maddening  regular 
ity  of  clock-work.  He  ate  little,  but  claimed 
to  sleep  well. 

Whatever  it  was  seemed  to  be  of  the  mind 
rather  than  the  body,  and  Ralph  could  find 
nothing  in  his  father's  circumstances  calculated 
to  worry  any  one  in  the  slightest  degree.  He 
planned,  vaguely,  to  invite  a  friend  who  was 
skilled  in  the  diagnosis  of  obscure  mental 


286  B  Spinner  in  tfoe  Sun 

disorders  to  spend  a  week-end  with  him,  a 

Secret 

of  tbc       little  later  on,  and  to  ask  him  to  observe  his 

Veil 

father  closely.  He  did  not  doubt  but  that 
Anthony  Dexter  would  see  quickly  through 
so  flimsy  a  pretence,  but,  unless  he  improved, 
something  of  the  kind  would  have  to  be  done 
soon. 

Meanwhile,  his  heart  yearned  strangely 
toward  Miss  Evelina.  It  was  altogether  pos 
sible  that  something  might  be  done.  Ralph 
was  modest,  but  new  discoveries  were  con 
stantly  being  made,  and  he  knew  that  his  own 
knowledge  was  more  abreast  of  the  times  than 
his  father's  could  be.  At  any  rate,  he  was  not 
so  easily  satisfied. 

He  was  trying  faithfully  to  forget  Araminta, 
but  was  not  succeeding.  The  sweet,  childish 
face  haunted  him  as  constantly  as  the  veiled 
phantom  haunted  his  father,  but  in  a  different 
way.  Through  his  own  unhappiness,  he  came 
into  kinship  with  all  the  misery  of  the  world. 
He  longed  to  uplift,  to  help,  to  heal. 

He  decided  to  try  once  more  to  talk  with 
Miss  Evelina,  to  ask  her,  point  blank,  if  need 
be,  to  let  him  see  her  face.  He  knew  that  his 
father  lacked  sympathy,  and  he  was  sure  that 
when  Miss  Evelina  once  thoroughly  understood 


Secret  of  tbe  Weil  287 


him,  she  would  be  willing  to  let  him   help 

secret 
her.  of  tbe 

On  the  way  uphill,  he  considered  how  he 
should  approach  the  subject.  He  had  already 
planned  to  make  an  ostensible  errand  of  the 
book  he  had  loaned  Araminta.  Perhaps  Miss 
Evelina  had  read  it,  or  would  like  to,  and  he 
could  begin,  in  that  way,  to  talk  to  her. 

When  he  reached  the  gate,  the  house  seemed 
deserted,  though  the  front  door  was  ajar.  It 
was  a  warm,  sweet  afternoon  in  early  Summer, 
and  the  world  was  very  still,  except  for  the 
winged  folk  of  wood  and  field. 

He  tapped  gently  at  the  door,  but  there  was 
no  answer.  He  went  around  to  the  back  door, 
but  it  was  closed,  and  there  was  no  sign  that 
the  place  was  occupied,  except  quantities  of 
white  chiffon  hung  upon  the  line.  Being  a 
man,  Ralph  did  not  perceive  that  Miss  Evelina 
had  washed  every  veil  she  possessed. 

He  went  back  to  the  front  of  the  house  again 
and  found  that  the  door  was  still  ajar.  She 
might  have  gone  away,  though  it  seemed 
unlikely,  or  it  was  not  impossible  that  she 
might  have  been  taken  suddenly  ill  and  was 
unable  to  come  to  the  door. 

Ralph  went  in,  softly,  as  he  had  often  done 


288 


H  Spinner  in  tfte  Sun 


Secret 
Of  the 
Veil 


before.  Miss  Evelina  had  frequently  left  the 
door  open  for  him  at  the  hour  he  was  expected 
to  visit  his  patient. 

He  paused  a  moment  in  the  hall,  but  heard 
no  sound  save  slow,  deep  breathing.  He 
turned  into  the  parlour,  but  stopped  on  the 
threshold  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  changed 
to  stone. 

Upon  the  couch  lay  Miss  Evelina,  asleep, 
and  unveiled.  Her  face  was  turned  toward 
him — a  face  of  such  surpassing  beauty  that  he 
gasped  in  astonishment.  He  had  never  seen 
such  wondrous  perfection  of  line  and  feature, 
nor  such  a  crown  of  splendour  as  her  lustreless 
white  hair,  falling  loosely  about  her  shoulders. 
Her  face  was  as  pure  and  as  cold  as  marble, 
flawless,  and  singularly  transparent.  Her  lips 
were  deep  scarlet  and  perfectly  shaped;  the 
white  slender  column  of  her  throat  held  her 
head  proudly.  Long,  dark  lashes  swept 
her  cheek,  and  the  years  had  left  no  lines. 
Feeling  the  intense  scrutiny,  Miss  Evelina 
opened  her  eyes,  slowly,  like  one  still  half 
asleep. 

Her  eyes  were  violet,  so  deep  in  colour  as  to 
seem  almost  black.  She  stared  at  Ralph, 
unseeing,  then  the  light  of  recognition  flashed 


Secret  of  tbe  IDetl 


289 


over  her  face  and  she  sat  up,  reaching  back 
quickly  for  her  missing  veil. 


Ube 
Secret 
of  tbe 

"Miss  Evelina!"  cried  Ralph.  "Why,  oh 
why!" 

"Why  did  you  come  in?"  she  demanded, 
resentfully.  "  You  had  no  right!" 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  pleaded,  coming  to  her. 
"  I  've  often  come  in  when  the  door  was  open. 
Why,  you  've  left  it  open  for  me  yourself, 
don't  you  know  you  have?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered,  a  faint  colour 
coming  into  her  cheek.  "  I  had  no  idea  of 
going  to  sleep.  I  am  sorry." 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  ill,"  said  Ralph, 
excusing  himself  further.  "  Believe  me,  Miss 
Evelina,  I  had  no  thought  of  intruding.  I  only 
came  to  help  you." 

He  stood  before  her,  still  staring,  and  her 
eyes  met  his  clearly  in  return.  In  the  violet 
depths  was  a  world  of  knowledge  and  pain. 
Suffering  had  transfigured  her  face  into  a  noble 
beauty  for  which  there  were  no  words.  Such 
a  face  might  be  the  dream  of  a  sculptor,  the 
despair  of  a  painter,  and  the  ecstasy  of  a  lover. 

"Why?"  cried  Ralph,  again. 

"Because,"  she  answered,  simply,  "my 
beauty  was  my  curse." 


2QO 


H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


Ube 
Secret 
of  tbe 


Ralph  did  not  see  that  the  words  were 
melodramatic;  he  only  sat  down,  weakly,  in  a 
chair  opposite  her.  He  never  once  took  his 
eyes  away  from  her,  but  stared  at  her  helplessly, 
like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

"Why?"  he  questioned,  again.  "Tell  me 
why!" 

"It  was  in  a  laboratory,"  explained  Miss 
Evelina.  "  I  was  there  with  the  man  I  loved 
and  to  whom  I  was  to  be  married  the  next  day. 
No  one  knew  of  our  engagement,  for,  in  a  small 
town,  you  know,  people  will  talk,  and  we  both 
felt  that  it  was  too  sacred  to  be  spoken  of 
lightly. 

"  He  was  trying  an  experiment,  and  I  was 
watching.  He  came  to  the  retort  to  put  in 
another  chemical,  and  leaned  over  it.  I  heard 
the  mass  seething  and  pushed  him  away  with 
all  my  strength.  Instantly,  there  was  a 
terrible  explosion.  When  I  came  to  my  senses 
again,  I  was  in  the  hospital,  wrapped  in  ban 
dages.  I  had  been  terribly  burned — see?" 

She  loosened  her  black  gown  at  the  throat  and 
pushed  it  down  over  her  right  shoulder.  Ralph 
shuddered  at  the  deep,  flaming  scars. 

•  "  My  arm  is  worse,"  she  said,  quickly  cover 
ing  her  shoulder  again.  "  I  need  not  show 


Secret  of  tbe  Deil  291 


you    that.     My   face   was    burned,    too,    but 

J  J  Secret 

scarcely  at  all.     To  this  day,  I  do  not  know        oftbe 
how  I  escaped.     I  must  have  thrown  up  my 
arm    instinctively    to    shield    my   face.     See, 
there  are  no  scars." 

"I  see,"  murmured  Ralph;  "and  what  of 
him?" 

The  dark  eyes  gleamed  indescribably. 
"What  of  him?"  she  asked,  with  assumed 
lightness.  "Why,  he  was  not  hurt  at  all. 
I  saved  him  from  disfigurement,  if  not  from 
death.  I  bear  the  scars;  he  goes  free." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  why  were  you 
not  married?  All  his  life  and  love  would  be 
little  enough  to  give  in  return  for  that." 

Miss  Evelina  fixed  her  deep  eyes  upon 
Anthony  Dexter'  s  son.  In  her  voice  there 
was  no  hint  of  faltering. 

"  I  never  saw  him  again,"  she  said,  "until 
twenty-five  years  afterward,  and  then  I  was 
veiled.  He  went  away." 

"Went  away!"  repeated  Ralph,  incredu 
lously.  "Miss  Evelina,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  said,"  she  replied.  "He  went 
away.  He  came  once  to  the  hospital.  As  it 
happened,  there  was  another  girl  there,  named 
Evelyn  Grey,  burned  by  acid,  and  infinitely 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


worse  than  I.     The  two  names  became  con- 
secret 

of  tbe        fused.     He  was  told  that  I  would  be  disfigured 

Veil 

for  life — that  every  feature  was  destroyed 
except  my  sight.  That  was  enough  for  him. 
He  asked  no  more  questions,  but  simply  went 
away." 

"Coward!"  cried  Ralph,  his  face  white. 
"Cur!" 

Miss  Evelina's  eyes  gleamed  with  subtle 
triumph.  "What  would  you?"  she  asked 
unemotionally.  "  He  told  me  that  day  of  the 
accident  that  it  was  my  soul  he  loved,  and  not 
my  body,  but  at  the  test,  he  failed.  Men 
usually  fail  women,  do  they  not,  in  anything 
that  puts  their  love  to  the  test?  He  went 
away.  In  a  year,  he  was  married,  and  he  has 
a  son." 

"A  son!"  repeated  Ralph.  "What  a  heri 
tage  of  disgrace  for  a  son!  Does  the  boy 
know?  " 

There  was  a  significant  silence.  "  I  do  not 
think  his  father  has  told  him,"  said  Evelina, 
with  forced  calmness. 

"If  he  had,"  muttered  Ralph,  his  hands 
clenched  and  his  teeth  set,  "  his  son  must  have 
struck  him  dead  where  he  stood.  To  accept 
that  from  a  woman,  and  then  to  go  away!" 


Secret  ot  tbe  IDeil 


293 


"  What  would  you?"  asked  Evelina  again. 

Secret 


A  curious,  tigerish  impulse  was  taking  definite 
shape  in  her.  "  Would  you  have  him  marry 
her?" 

"  Marry  her?  A  thousand  times,  yes,  if 
she  would  stoop  so  low!  What  man  is  worthy 
of  a  woman  who  saves  his  life  at  the  risk  of 
her  own?  " 

"  Disfigured?  "  asked  Evelina,  in  an  odd 
voice. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Ralph,  "  with  the  scars  she 
bore  for  him! " 

There  was  a  tense,  painful  interval.  Miss 
Evelina  was  grappling  with  a  hideous  tempta 
tion.  One  word  from  her,  and  she  was  re 
venged  upon  Anthony  Dexter  for  all  the  years 
of  suffering.  One  word  from  her,  and  sure 
payment  would  be  made  in  the  most  subtle, 
terrible  way.  She  guessed  that  he  could  not 
bear  the  condemnation  of  this  idolised  son. 

The  old  pain  gnawed  at  her  heart.  Anthony 
Dexter  had  come  back,  she  had  had  her  little 
hour  of  triumph,  and  still  she  had  not  been 
freed.  The  Piper  had  told  her  that  only  for 
giveness  could  loosen  her  chains.  And  how 
could  Anthony  Dexter  be  forgiven,  when  even 
his  son  said  that  he  was  a  coward  and  a  cur? 


of  tbe 
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"  I — "  Miss  Evelina's  lips  moved,  then 
became  still. 

IDeil 

"And  so,"  said  Ralph,  "you  have  gone 
veiled  ever  since,  for  the  sake  of  that  beast?" 

"  No,  it  was  for  my  own  sake.  Do  you 
wonder  that  I  have  done  it?  When  I  first 
realised  what  had  happened,  in  an  awful  night 
that  turned  my  brown  hair  white,  I  knew  that 
Love  and  I  were  strangers  forevermore. 

"When  I  left  the  hospital,  I  was  obliged, 
for  a  time,  to  wear  it.  The  new  skin  was 
tender  and  bright  red;  it  broke  very  easily." 

"  I  know,"  nodded  Ralph. 

"  There  were  oils  to  be  kept  upon  it,  too, 
and  so  I  wore  the  veil.  I  became  accustomed 
to  the  shelter  of  it.  I  could  walk  the  streets 
and  see,  dimly,  without  being  seen.  In  those 
days,  I  thought  that,  perhaps,  I  might  meet — 
him." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  shrank  from  it," 
returned  Ralph.  His  voice  was  almost  inaud 
ible. 

"  It  became  harder  still  to  put  it  by.  My 
heart  was  broken,  and  it  shielded  me  as  a  long, 
black  veil  shields  a  widow.  It  protected  me 
from  curious  questions.  Never  but  once  or 
twice  in  all  the  twenty-five  years  have  I  been 


ZTbe  Secret  of  tbe  IDeii  295 

asked  about  it,  and  then,   I  simply  did  not 

Secret 

answer.     People,  after  all,  are  very  kind."  of  tbe 

"Were  you  never  ill?" 

"  Never,  though  every  night  of  my  life  I 
have  prayed  for  death.  At  first,  I  clung  to  it 
without  reason,  except  what  I  have  told  you, 
then,  later  on,  I  began  to  see  a  further  pro 
tection.  Veiled  as  I  was,  no  man  would  ever 
love  me  again.  I  should  never  be  tempted 
to  trust,  only  to  be  betrayed.  Not  that  I  ever 
could  trust,  you  understand,  but  still,  some 
times,"  concluded  Miss  Evelina,  piteously, 
"  I  think  the  heart  of  a  woman  is  strangely 
hungry  for  love." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Ralph,  "  and,  believe 
me,  I  do  not  blame  you.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
best  thing  you  could  do.  Let  me  ask  you  of 
the  man.  You  said,  I  think,  that  he  still  lives?" 

"  Yes."    Miss  Evelina's  voice  was  very  low. 

"  He  is  well  and  happy — prosperous?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  lives?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Has  he  ever  suffered  at  all  from  his  coward 
ice,  his  shirking?  " 

"  How  should  I  know?  " 

"  Then,  Miss  Evelina,"  said  Ralph,  his  voice 


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thick  with  passion  and  his  hands  tightly 
clenched,  "  will  you  let  me  go  to  him?  For 

Weil 

the  honour  of  men,  I  should  like  to  punish  this 
one  brute.  I  think  I  could  present  an  argu 
ment  that  even  he  might  understand!" 

The  temptation  became  insistent.  The 
sheathed  dagger  was  in  Evelina's  hands;  she 
had  only  to  draw  forth  the  glittering  steel.  A 
vengeance  more  subtle  than  she  had  ever  dared 
to  dream  of  was  hers  to  command. 

"Tell  me  his  name,"  breathed  Ralph. 
"Only  tell  me  his  name!" 

Miss  Evelina  threw  back  her  beautiful  head 
proudly.  "  No,"  she  said,  firmly,  "  I  will  not. 
Go,"  she  cried,  pointing  uncertainly  to  the 
door.  "  For  the  love  of  God,  go!" 


297 


XXI 


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IT  was  dusk,  and  Anthony  Dexter  sat  in  the 
library.  Through  the  day,  he  had  wearied 
himself  to  the  point  of  exhaustion,  but  his 
phantom  pursuer  had  not  tired.  The  veiled 
figure  of  Evelina  had  kept  pace  easily  with  his 
quick,  nervous  stride.  At  the  point  on  the 
river  road,  where  he  had  met  her  for  the  first 
time,  she  had,  indeed,  seemed  to  go  ahead  of 
him  and  wait  for  him  there. 

Night  brought  no  relief.  By  a  singular 
fatality,  he  could  see  her  in  darkness  as  plainly 
as  in  sunshine,  and  even  when  his  eyes  were 
closed,  she  hovered  persistently  before  him. 
Throughout  his  drugged  sleep  she  moved 
continuously;  he  never  dreamed  save  of  her. 
In  days  gone  by,  he  had  been  certain  that 
he  was  the  victim  of  an  hallucination,  but  now, 
he  was  not  so  sure.  He  would  not  have  sworn 
that  the  living  Evelina  was  not  eternally  in  his 


Ube 

Jpopplee 

Claim 

tbcic  ©wn 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Cbe 

poppies 

Claim 

t'ocir  ©wu 


sight.  Time  and  time  again  he  had  darted 
forward  quickly  to  catch  her,  but  she  swiftly 
eluded  him.  "  If,"  he  thought,  gritting  his 
teeth,  "  I  could  once  get  my  hands  upon 
her " 

His  fists  closed  tightly,  then,  by  a  supreme 
effort  of  will,  he  put  the  maddening  thought 
away.  "  I  will  not  add  murder  to  my 
sins,"  he  muttered;  "  no,  by  Heaven,  I  will 
not!" 

By  a  whimsical  change  of  his  thought,  he 
conceived  himself  dead  and  in  his  coifm. 
Would  Evelina  pace  ceaselessly  before  him 
then?  When  he  was  in  his  grave,  would 
she  wait  eternally  at  the  foot  of  it,  and  would 
those  burning  eyes  pierce  the  shielding  sod 
that  parted  them?  Life  had  not  served  to 
separate  them — could  he  hope  that  Death 
would  prove  potent  where  Life  had  failed? 

Ralph  came  in,  tired,  having  done  his 
father's  work  for  the  day.  The  room  was 
wholly  dark,  but  he  paused  upon  the  threshold, 
conscious  that  some  one  was  there. 

"Alone,  father?"  he  called,  cheerily. 

"No,"  returned  Anthony  Dexter,  grimly. 

"Who 's  here?"  asked  Ralph,  stumbling  into 
the  room.  "  It's  so  dark,  I  can't  see." 


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299 


Fumbling  for  a  match,  he  lighted  a  wax 
candle  which  stood  in  an  antique  candlestick 
on  the  library  table.  The  face  of  his  father 
materialised  suddenly  out  of  the  darkness, 
wearing  an  expression  which  made  Ralph 
uneasy. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  troubled,  "that 
some  one  was  with  you." 

"  Aren't  you  here?"  asked  Anthony  Dexter, 
trying  to  make  his  voice  even. 

*  Oh,"  returned  Ralph,     ft  I  see." 

With  the  candle  flickering  uncertainly  be 
tween  them,  the  two  men  faced  each  other. 
Sharp  shadows  lay  on  the  floor  and  Anthony 
Dexter's  profile  was  silhouetted  upon  the 
opposite  wall.  He  noted  that  the  figure  of 
Evelina,  pacing  to  and  fro,  cast  no  shadow. 
It  seemed  strange. 

In  the  endeavour  to  find  some  interesting 
subject  upon  which  to  talk,  Ralph  chanced 
upon  the  fatal  one.  "Father,"  he  began, 
"  you  know  that  this  morning  we  were  speak 
ing  of  Miss  Evelina?  " 

The  tone  was  inquiring,  but  there  was  no 
audible  answer. 

"  Well,"  continued  Ralph,  "  I  saw  her  again 
to-day  And  I  saw  her  face."  He  had  forgot- 


Ube 
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tbeir  Own 


300 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 
poppies 
Claim 
tbeit  ©wn 


ten  that  his  father  had  seen  it,  also,  and  had 
told  him  only  yesterday. 

Anthony  Dexter  almost  leaped  from  his 
chair — toward  the  veiled  figure  now  approach 
ing  him.  "  Did — did  she  show  you  her  face?  " 
he  asked  with  difficulty. 

"No.  It  was  an  accident.  She  often  left 
the  front  door  open  for  me  when  I  was  attend 
ing  — Araminta — and  so,  to-day,  when  I  found 
it  open,  I  went  in.  She  was  asleep,  on  the 
couch  in  the  parlour,  and  she  wore  no  veil." 

At  once,  the  phantom  Evelina  changed 
her  tactics.  Hitherto,  she  had  walked  back 
and  forth  from  side  to  side  of  his  vision. 
Now  she  advanced  slowly  toward  him  and 
as  slowly  retreated.  Her  face  was  no  longer 
averted;  she  walked  backward  cautiously,  then 
advanced.  From  behind  her  veil,  he  could  feel 
her  burning,  accusing  eyes. 

"Father,"  said  Ralph,  "she  is  beautiful. 
She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever 
seen  in  all  my  life.  Her  face  is  as  exquisite 
as  if  chiselled  in  marble,  and  you  never  saw 
such  eyes.  And  she  wears  that  veil  all  the 
time." 

Anthony  Dexter's  cold  fingers  were  forced 
to  drum  on  the  table  with  apparent  carelessness. 


ttbe  poppies  Claim  tbeit 


301 


Yes,  he  knew  she  was  beautiful.  He  had  not 
forgotten  it  for  an  instant  since  she  had  thrown 
back  her  veil  and  faced  him.  "  Did — did  she 
tell  you  why?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ralph.  "She  told  me 
why." 

A  sword,  suspended  by  a  single  hair,  seemed 
swaying  uncertainly  over  Anthony  Dexter's 
head — a  two-edged  sword,  sure  to  strike 
mercilessly  if  it  fell.  Ralph's  eyes  were  upon 
him,  but  not  in  contempt.  God,  in  His  infinite 
pity,  had  made  them  kind. 

"Father,"  said  Ralph,  again,  "she  would 
not  tell  the  name  of  the  man,  though  I  begged 
her  to."  Anthony  Dexter's  heart  began  to 
beat  again,  slowly  at  first,  then  with  a  sudden 
and  unbearable  swiftness.  The  blood  thun 
dered  in  his  ears  like  the  roar  of  a  cataract. 
He  could  hardly  hear  what  Ralph  was  saying. 

"It  was  in  a  laboratory,"  the  boy  continued, 
though  the  words  were  almost  lost.  "  She 
was  there  with  the  man  she  loved  and  whom 
she  was  pledged  to  marry.  He  was  trying  a 
new  experiment,  and  she  was  watching.  While 
he  was  leaning  over  the  retort  to  put  in  another 
chemical,  she  heard  the  mass  seethe,  and  pushed 
him  away,  just  in  time  to  save  him. 


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tbeir  Qvrn 


"There  was  an  explosion,  and  she  was 
terribly  burned.  He  was  not  touched,  mind 
you — she  had  saved  him.  They  took  her  to 
the  hospital,  and  wrapped  her  in  bandages. 
He  went  there  only  once.  There  was  another 
girl  there,  named  Evelyn  Grey,  who  was  so 
badly  burned  that  every  feature  was  de 
stroyed.  The  two  names  became  confused, 
and  a  mistake  was  made.  They  toid  him  she 
would  be  disfigured  for  life,  and  so  he  went 
away." 

The  walls  of  the  room  swayed  as  though  they 
were  of  fabric.  The  floor  undulated;  his  chair 
rocked  dizzily.  Out  of  the  accusing  silence, 
Thorpe's  words  leaped  to  mock  him: 

The  honour  of  the  spoken  word  still  holds 
him-  He  asked  her  to  marry  him  and  she  con 
sented  .  .  .  he  was  never  released  from  his 
promise  .  .  .  did  not  even  ask  for  it.  He 
slunk  away  like  a  cur.  .  .  .  sometimes  I 
think  there  is  no  sin  hut  shirking.  .  .  .  / 
can  excuse  a  liar  .  .  .  /  can  pardon  a 
thief  .  .  .  I  can  pity  a  murderer  .  .  . 
hut  a  shirk,  no. 

"  Father/'  Ralph  was  saying,  "  you  do  not 
seem  to  understand.  I  suppose  it  is  difficult 
for  you  to  comprehend  such  cowardice — you 


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303 


have  always  done  the  square  thing."  The 
man  winced,  but  the  boy  did  not  see  it. 

"  Try  to  think  of  a  brute  like  that,  Father, 
and  be  glad  that  our  name  means  'right/ 
She  saved  him  from  terrible  disfigurement  if 
not  from  death.  Having  instinctively  thrown 
up  her  right  arm,  she  got  the  worst  of  it  there, 
and  on  her  shoulder.  Her  face  was  badly 
burned,  but  not  so  deeply  as  to  be  scarred. 
She  showed  me  her  shoulder —  it  is  awful.  I 
never  had  seen  anything  like  it.  She  said  her 
arm  was  worse,  but  she  did  not  show  me  that." 

"  He  never  knew?"  asked  Anthony  Dexter, 
huskily.  Ralph  seemed  to  be  demanding 
something  of  him,  and  the  veiled  figure,  steadily 
advancing  and  retreating,  demanded  more 
still. 

"No,"  answered  Ralph,  "he  never  knew. 
He  went  to  the  hospital  only  once.  He  had 
told  her  that  very  day  that  he  loved  her  for 
the  beautiful  soul  she  had,  and  at  the  test, 
his  love  failed.  He  never  saw  her  again.  He 
went  away,  and  married,  and  he  has  a  son. 
Think  of  the  son,  Father,  only  think  of  the  son ! 
Suppose  he  knew  it !  How  could  he  ever  bear 
a  disgrace  like  that!" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  muttered  Anthony  Dexter. 


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His  lips  were  cold  and  stiff  and  he  did  not 
recognise  his  own  voice. 

"When  she  understood  what  had  happened," 
Ralph  continued,  "  and  how  he  had  deserted 
her  for  ever,  after  taking  his  cowardly  life  from 
her  as  a  gift,  her  hair  turned  white.  She  has 
wonderful  hair,  Father — it's  heavy  and- white 
and  dull — it  does  not  shine.  She  wore  the  veil 
at  first  because  she  had  to,  because  her  face 
was  healing,  and  before  it  had  wholly  healed 
she  had  become  accustomed  to  the  shelter  of  it. 
Then,  too,  as  she  said,  it  kept  people  away 
from  her — she  could  not  be  tempted  to  love  or 
trust  again." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  though  the 
very  walls  seemed  to  be  crying  out:  "Tell  him! 
Tell  him!  Confess,  and  purge  your  guilty 
soul!"  The  clock  ticked  loudly,  the  blood 
roared  in  his  ears.  His  hands  were  cold  and 
almost  lifeless;  his  body  seemed  paralysed, 
but  he  heard,  so  acutely  that  it  was  agony. 

"  Miss  Evelina  said,"  resumed  Ralph,  "  that 
she  did  not  think  he  had  told  his  son.  Do 
you  know  what  I  was  thinking,  Father,  while 
she  was  talking'?  I  was  thinking  of  you,  and 
how  you  had  always  done  the  square  thing." 

It  seemed  to  Anthony  Dexter  that  all  the 


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305 


tortures  of  his  laboratory  had  been  chemically 
concentrated  and  were  being  poured  out  upon 
his  head.  "  Our  name  means  'right/  "  said  the 
boy,  proudly,  and  the  man  writhed  in  his 
chair. 

For  a  moment,  the  ghostly  Evelina  went  to 
Ralph,  her  hands  outstretched  in  disapproval. 
Immediately  she  returned  to  her  former  posi 
tion,  advancing,  retreating,  advancing,  retreat 
ing,  with  the  regularity  of  the  tide. 

"  I  begged  her,"  continued  Ralph,  "  to  tell 
me  the  man's  name,  but  she  would  not.  He 
still  lives,  she  said,  he  is  happy  and  prosperous 
and  he  has  not  suffered  at  all.  For  the  honour 
of  men,  I  want  to  punish  that  brute.  Father, 
do  you  know  that  when  I  think  of  a  cur  like 
that,  I  believe  I  could  rend  him  with  my  own 
hands  ?  " 

Anthony  Dexter  got  to  his  feet  unsteadily. 
The  mists  about  him  cleared  and  the  veiled 
figure  whisked  suddenly  out  of  his  sight.  He 
went  up  to  Ralph  as  he  might  walk  to  the 
scaffold,  but  his  head  was  held  high.  All  the 
anguish  of  his  soul  crystallised  itself  into  one 
passionate  word: 

"Strike!" 

For  an  instant  the  boy  faced  him,  unbeliev- 


Ube 

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Claim 

tbefr  Own 


306 


a  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TTbe 

poppies 

Claim 

tbeir  ©wn 


ing.  Then  he  remembered  that  his  father  had 
seen  Miss  Evelina's  face,  that  he  must 
have  known  she  was  beautiful — and  why  she 
wore  the  veil.  "  Father!  "  he  cried,  shrilly. 
"  Oh,  never  you!" 

Anthony  Dexter  looked  into  the  eyes  of  his 
son  until  he  could  bear  to  look  no  more.  The 
veiled  figure  no  longer  stood  between  them, 
but  something  else  was  there,  infinitely  more 
terrible.  As  he  had  watched  the  beating  of 
the  dog's  bared  heart,  the  man  watched  the 
boy's  face.  Incredulity,  amazement,  wonder, 
and  fear  resolved  themselves  gradually  into 
conviction.  Then  came  contempt,  so  deep 
and  profound  and  permanent  that  from  it 
there  could  never  be  appeal.  With  all  the 
strength  of  his  young  and  knightly  soul,  Ralph 
despised  his  father — and  Anthony  Dexter 
knew  it. 

"  Father,"  whispered  the  boy,  hoarsely,  "  it 
was  never  you!  Tell  me  it  is  n't  true!  Just  a 
word,  and  I  '11  believe  you!  For  the  sake 
of  our  manhood,  Father,  tell  me  it  is  n't 
true!" 

Anthony  Dexter's  head  drooped,  his  eyes 
lowered  before  his  son's.  The  cold  sweat 
dripped  from  his  face;  his  hands  groped  pitifully, 


poppies  Claim  tbeir  Own 


like  those  of  a  blind  man,  feeling  his  way  in  a 
strange  place. 

His  hands  fumbled  helplessly  toward  Ralph's 
and  the  boy  shrank  back  as  though  from  the 
touch  of  a  snake.  With  a  deep-drawn  breath 
of  agony,  the  man  flung  himself,  unseeing,  out 
of  the  room.  Ralph  reeled  like  a  drunken  man 
against  his  chair.  He  sank  into  it  helplessly 
and  his  head  fell  forward  on  the  table,  his 
shoulders  shaking  with  that  awful  grief  which 
knows  no  tears 

"  Father!"  he  breathed.  "  Father!  Father!" 

Upstairs,  Anthony  Dexter  walked  through 
the  hall,  followed,  or  occasionally  preceded, 
by  the  ghostly  figure  of  Evelina.  Her  veil  was 
thrown  back  now,  and  seemed  a  part  of  the 
mist  which  surrounded  her.  Sometimes  he  had 
told  a  patient  that  there  was  never  a  point 
beyond  which  human  endurance  could  not  be 
made  to  go.  He  knew  now  that  he  had  lied. 

Ralph's  unspoken  condemnation  had  hurt 
him  cruelly.  He  could  have  borne  words,  he 
thought,  better  than  that  look  on  his  son's 
face.  For  the  first  time,  he  realised  how  much 
he  had  cared  for  Ralph ;  how  much — God  help 
him! — he  cared  for  him  still. 


poppies 

Claim 

tbeic  Own 


308 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


Ube 

floppies 

Claim 

tbeir  Own 


Yet  above  it  all,  dominant,  compelling,  was 
man's  supreme  passion — that  for  his  mate. 
As  Evelina  moved  before  him  in  her  unveiled 
beauty,  his  hungry  soul  leaped  to  meet  hers. 
Now,  strangely,  he  loved  her  as  he  had  loved 
her  in  the  long  ago,  yet  with  an  added  grace. 
There  was  an  element  in  his  love  that  had 
never  been  there  before — the  mysterious  bond 
which  welds  more  firmly  into  one,  two  who 
have  suffered  together. 

He  hungered  for  Ralph — for  the  strong 
young  arm  thrown  about  his  shoulders  in 
friendly  fashion,  for  the  eager,  boyish  laugh, 
the  hearty  word.  He  hungered  for  Evelina, 
radiant  with  a  beauty  no  woman  had  ever 
worn  before.  Far  past  the  promise  of  her 
girlhood,  the  noble,  transfigured  face,  with  its 
glory  of  lustreless  white  hair,  set  his  pulses  to 
throbbing  wildly.  And  subtly,  unconsciously, 
but  not  the  less  surely,  he  hungered  for  death. 

Anthony  Dexter  had  cherished  no  sentiment 
about  the  end  of  life;  to  him  it  had  seemed 
much  the  same  as  the  stopping  of  a  clock,  and 
of  as  little  moment.  He  had  failed  to  see  why 
such  a  fuss  was  made  about  the  inevitable, 
though  he  had  at  times  been  scientifically 
interested  in  the  hysterical  effect  he  had  pro- 


poppies  Claim  tbeir  ©wit 


309 


duced  in  a  household  by  announcing  that 
within  an  hour  or  so  a  particular  human  clock 
might  be  expected  to  stop.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him,  either,  that  a  man  had  not  a 
well-defined  right  to  stop  the  clock  of  his 
own  being  whenever  it  seemed  desirable  or 
expedient. 

Now  he  thought  of  death  as  the  final,  beau 
tiful  solution  of  all  mundane  problems.  If 
he  were  dead,  Ralph  could  not  look  at  him  with 
contempt;  the  veiled — or  unveiled — Evelina 
could  not  haunt  him  as  she  had,  remorselessly, 
for  months.  Yes,  death  was  beautiful,  and 
he  well  knew  how  to  make  it  sure. 

By  an  incredibly  swift  transition,  his  pain 
passed  into  an  exquisite  pleasure.  The  woman 
he  loved  was  walking  in  the  hall  before  him; 
the  son  he  loved  was  downstairs.  What  man 
could  have  more? 

"  For  sudden  the  worst  turns  the  best  to  the  brave, 

The  black  minute  's  at  end, 
And  the  elements'  rage,  the  fiend  voices  that  rave, 

Shall  dwindle,  shall  blend, 
Shall  change,  shall  become  first  a  peace  out  of  pain, 

Then  a  light,  then  thy  breast — 
Oh  thou  soul  of  my  soul,  I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 

And  with  God  be  the  rest !  " 

The  wonderful  words  sang  themselves  over 


Ipoppies 

Claim 

tbciv  Own 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 

floppies 

Claim 

tbeit  ©wn 


in  his  consciousness.  He  smiled  and  the  un 
veiled  Evelina  smiled  back  at  him,  with  infinite 
tenderness,  infinite  love.  To-night  he  would 
sleep  as  he  had  not  slept  before — in  the  sleep 
that  knows  no  waking. 

He  had  the  tiny  white  tablets,  plenty  of 
them,  but  the  fancy  seized  him  to  taste  this 
last  bitterness  to  the  full.  He  took  a  wine 
glass  from  his  chiffonier — those  white,  blunt 
fingers  had  never  been  more  steady  than  now. 
He  lifted  the  vial  on  high  and  poured  out  thr 
laudanum,  faltering  no  more  than  when  he  had 
guided  the  knife  in  an  operation  that  made 
him  famous  throughout  the  State. 

"  Evelina,"  he  said,  his  voice  curiously  soft, 
"  I  pledge  you  now,  in  a  bond  that  cannot 
break!  "  Was  it  fancy,  or  did  the  violet  eyes 
soften  with  tears,  even  though  the  scarlet  lips 
smiled? 

He  drank.  The  silken  petals  of  the  poppies, 
crushed  into  the  peace  that  passeth  all  under 
standing,  began  their  gentle  ministry.  He 
made  his  way  to  his  bed,  put  out  his  candle, 
and  lay  down.  The  Spirit  of  the  Poppies  stood 
before  him — a  woman  with  a  face  like  Evelina's, 
but  her  garments  were  scarlet,  and  Evelina 
always  wore  black. 


Ube  poppies  Claim  tbeir 


In  the  darkness,  he  could  not  distinguish 
clearly.  "  Evelina,"  he  called,  aloud,  "  come! 
Come  to  me,  and  put  your  hand  in  mine!" 

At  once  she  seemed  to  answer  him,  wholly 
tender,  wholly  kind.  Was  he  dreaming,  or 
did  Evelina  come  and  kneel  beside  him?  He 
groped  for  her  hand,  but  it  eluded  him. 

"Evelina,"  he  said,  again,  "dear  heart! 
Come!  Forgive,"  he  breathed,  drowsily.  "Ah, 
only  forgive!" 

Then,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  her  hand  slipped 
into  his  and  he  felt  his  head  drawn  tenderly 
to  man's  first  and  last  resting  place — a  woman's 
breast. 

And  so,  after  a  little,  Anthony  Dexter  slept. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Poppies  had  claimed  her  own 
at  last. 


•Cbe 

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312 


11C80 


XXII 


HAGGARD  and  worn,  after  a  sleepless 
night,  Ralph  went  down-stairs.  Heavily 
upon  his  young  shoulders,  he  bore  the  burden 
of  his  father's  disgrace.  Through  their  kinship, 
the  cowardice  and  the  shirking  became  a  part 
of  his  heritage. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  for  he  could 
not  raise  his  hand  in  anger  against  his  own 
father.  They  must  continue  to  live  together, 
and  keep  an  unbroken  front  to  the  world,  even 
though  the  bond  between  them  had  come  to  be 
the  merest  pretence.  He  despised  his  father, 
but  no  one  must  ever  know  it  —  not  even  the 
father  whom  he  despised.  Ralph  did  not  guess 
that  his  father  had  read  his  face. 

He  saw,  now,  why  Miss  Evelina  had  refused 
to  tell  him  the  man's  name,  and  he  honoured 
her  for  her  reticence.  He  perceived,  too,  the 
hideous  temptation  with  which  she  was  grap- 


313 


pling  when  she  begged  him  to  leave  her.  She 
had  feared  that  she  would  tell  him,  and  he 
must  never  let  her  suspect  that  he  knew. 

The  mighty,  unseen  forces  that  lie  beneath 
our  daily  living  were  surging  through  Ralph's 
troubled  soul.  Love,  hatred,  shame,  remorse, 
anger,  despair — the  words  are  but  symbols  of 
things  that  work  devastation  within. 

Behold  a  man,  in  all  outward  seeming  a 
gentleman.  Observe  his  courtesy,  refinement, 
and  consideration,  his  perfect  self-control. 
Note  his  mastery  of  the  lower  nature,  and  see 
the  mind  in  complete  triumph  over  the  beast. 
Remark  his  education,  the  luxury  of  his  sur 
roundings,  and  the  fine  quality  of  his  thought. 
Wonder  at  the  high  levels  whereon  his  life  is 
laid,  and  marvel  at  the  perfect  adjustment 
between  him  and  his  circumstances.  Subject 
this  man  to  the  onslaught  of  some  vast,  cy 
clonic  passion,  and  see  the  barriers  crumble, 
then  fall.  See  all  the  artifice  of  civilisation 
swept  away  at  one  fell  stroke,  and  behold 
your  gentleman,  transformed  in  an  instant  into 
a  beast,  with  all  a  beast's  primeval  qualities. 

Under  stress  like  this  Ralph  was  fighting  to 
regain  his  self  mastery.  He  knew  that  he 
must  force  himself  to  sit  opposite  his  father  at 


3i4 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


the  table,  and  exchange  the  daily,  COmmon- 

7 

place  talk.  No  one  must  ever  suspect  that 
anything  was  amiss  —  it  is  this  demand  of 
Society  which  keeps  the  structure  in  place  and 
draws  the  line  between  civilisation  and  barbar 
ism.  He  knew  that  he  never  again  could  look 
his  father  straight  in  the  face,  that  he  must 
always  avoid  his  eyes.  It  would  be  hard  at 
first,  but  Ralph  had  never  given  up  anything 
simply  because  it  was  difficult. 

It  was  a  relief  to  find  that  he  was  downstairs 
first.  Hearing  his  father's  step  upon  the  stair, 
he  thought,  would  enable  him  to  steel  himself 
more  surely  to  the  inevitable  meeting.  After 
they  had  once  spoken  together,  it  would  be 
easier.  At  length  they  might  even  become 
accustomed  to  the  ghastly  thing  that  lay 
between  them  and  veil  it,  as  it  were,  with 
commonplaces 

Ralph  took  up  the  morning  paper  and  pre- 
-  tended  to  read,  though  the  words  danced  all 
over  the  page.  The  old  housekeeper  brought 
in  his  breakfast,  and,  likewise,  he  affected  to 
eat.  An  hour  went  by,  and  still  the  dreaded 
step  did  not  sound  upon  the  stair.  At  length 
the  old  housekeeper  said,  with  a  certain  timid 
deference  : 


^forgiveness  3I5 

"  Your  father  's  very  late  this  morning,  Doc- 
tor  Ralph.  He  has  never  been  so  late  before." 

"  He  '11  be  down,  presently.  He  's  probably 
overslept." 

"  It's  not  your  father's  way  to  oversleep. 
Had  n't  you  better  go  up  and  see?" 

Thus  forced,  Ralph  went  leisurely  up-stairs, 
intending  only  to  rap  upon  the  door,  which 
was  always  closed.  Perhaps,  with  the  closed 
door  between  them,  the  first  speech  might  be 
easier. 

He  rapped  once,  with  hesitation,  then 
again,  more  definitely.  There  was  no  answer. 
Wholly  without  suspicion,  Ralph  opened  the 
door,  and  went  in. 

Anthony  Dexter  lay  upon  his  bed,  fully 
dressed.  On  his  face  was  a  smile  of  ineffable 
peace.  Ralph  went  to  him  quickly,  shook  him, 
and  felt  his  pulse,  but  vainly.  The  heart  of  the 
man  made  no  answer  to  the  questioning  fingers 
of  his  son.  The  eyes  were  closed  and,  his  hands 
trembling  now,  Ralph  forced  them  open.  The 
contracted  pupils  gave  him  all  the  information 
he  needed.  He  found  the  wineglass,  which 
still  smelled  of  laudanum.  He  washed  it 
carefully,  put  it  away,  then  went  down-stairs. 

His    first    sensation    was    entirely    relief. 


3i6 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ness 


Anthony  Dexter  had  chosen  the  one  sure  way 
out.  Ralph  had  a  distinct  sense  of  gratitude 
until  he  remembered  that  death  did  not  end 
disgrace.  Never  again  need  he  look  in  his 
father's  eyes ;  there  was  no  imperative  demand 
that  he  should  conceal  his  contempt.  With 
the  hiding  of  Anthony  Dexter's  body  beneath 
the  shriving  sod,  all  would  be  over  save 
memory.  Could  he  put  by  this  memory  as  his 
father  had  his?  Ralph  did  not  know. 

The  sorrowful  preliminaries  were  all  over 
before  Ralph's  feeling  was  in  any  way  changed. 
Then  the  pity  of  it  all  overwhelmed  him  in  a 
blinding  flood. 

Searching  for  something  or  some  one  to  lean 
upon,  his  thought  turned  to  Miss  Evelina. 
Surely,  now,  he  might  go  to  her.  If  comfort 
was  to  be  had,  of  any  sort,  he  could  find  it 
there.  At  any  rate,  they  were  bound,  much 
as  his  father  had  been  bound  to  her  before,  by 
the  logic  of  events. 

He  went  uphill,  scarcely  knowing  how  he 
made  his  way.  Miss  Evelina,  veiled,  as  usual, 
opened  the  door  for  him.  Ralph  stumbled 
across  the  threshold,  crying  out: 

"  My  father  is  dead !  He  died  by  his  own 
hand!" 


317 


"  Yes,"  returned  Miss  Evelina,  quietly.  "  I 
have  heard.  I  am  sorry — for  you." 

"  You  need  not  be,"  flashed  Ralph,  quickly. 
"  It  is  for  us,  my  father  and  I,  to  be  sorry  for 
you — to  make  amends,  if  any  amends  can  be 
made  by  the  living  or  the  dead." 

Miss  Evelina  started.  He  knew,  then? 
And  it  had  not  been  necessary  for  her  to  draw 
out  the  sheathed  dagger  which  only  yesterday 
she  had  held  in  her  hand.  The  glittering 
vengeance  had  gone  home,  through  no  direct 
agency  of  hers. 

"  Miss  Evelina!  "  cried  the  boy.  "  I  have 
come  to  ask  you  to  forgive  my  father!" 

A  silence  fell  between  them,  as  cold  and 
forbidding  as  Death  itself.  After  an  interval 
which  seemed  an  hour,  Miss  Evelina  spoke. 

"  He  never  asked,"  she  said.  Her  tone  was 
icy,  repellent. 

'  "  I  know,"  answered  Ralph,  despairingly, 
"but  I,  his  son,  ask  it.  Anthony  Dexter's 
son  asks  you  to  forgive  Anthony  Dexter — 
not  to  let  him  go  to  his  grave  unforgiven." 

"  He  never  asked,"  said  Miss  Evelina  again, 
stubbornly. 

' '  His  need  is  all  the  greater  for  that, "  pleaded 
the  boy,  "  and  mine.  Have  you  thought  of 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


forgive* 

ness 


my  need  of  it?  My  name  meant  '  right'  until 
.ny  father  changed  its  meaning.  Don't  you  see 
that  unless  you  forgive  my  father,  I  can  never 
hold  up  my  head  again?" 

What  the  Piper  had  said  to  Evelina  came 
back  to  her  now,  eloquent  with  appeal: 

Tbe  word  is  not  made  right.  I  'm  thinking 
't  is  wrong  end  to,  as  many  things  in  this  world 
are  until  we  move  and  look  at  them  from  another 
way.  It  's  giving  for,  that  's  all.  When  you 
have  put  self  so  wholly  aside  that  you  can  he 
sorry  for  him  because  he  has  wronged  you,  why, 
then  you  have  forgiven. 

She  moved  about  restlessly.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  could  never  be  sorry  for  Anthony 
Dexter  because  he  had  wronged  her;  that  she 
could  never  grow  out  of  the  hurt  of  her  own 
wrong. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Ralph,  choking.  "  I 
know  it 's  a  hard  thing  I  ask  of  you.  God 
knows  I  have  n't  forgiven  him  myself,  but  I 
know  I  've  got  to,  and  you  '11  have  to,  too. 
Miss  Evelina,  you  've  got  to  forgive  him,  or  I 
never  can  bear  my  disgrace." 

She  let  him  lead  her  out  of  the  house.  On 
the  long  way  to  Anthony  Dexter's,  no  word 
passed  between  them.  Only  the  sound  of 


319 


their  footfalls,  and  Ralph's  long,  choking 
breaths,  half  sobs,  broke  the  silence. 

At  the  gate,  the  usual  knot  of  curious  people 
had  gathered.  They  were  wondering,  in 
undertones,  how  one  so  skilful  as  Doctor 
Dexter  had  happened  to  take  an  overdose  of 
laudanum,  but  they  stood  by,  respectfully,  to 
make  way  for  Ralph  and  the  mysterious, 
veiled  woman  in  black.  The  audible  whispers 
followed  them  up  to  the  very  door:  "  Who  is 
she?  What  had  she  to  do  with  him?" 

As  yet,  Anthony  Dexter's  body  lay  in  his 
own  room.  Ralph  led  Miss  Evelina  in,  and 
closed  the  door.  "  Here  he  is,"  sobbed  the 
boy.  "  He  has  gone  and  left  the  shame  for  me. 
Forgive  him,  Miss  Evelina!  For  the  love  of 
God,  forgive  him!" 

Evelina  sighed.  She  was  standing  close  to 
Anthony  Dexter  now  without  fear.  She  had 
no  wish  to  torture  him,  as  she  once  had,  with 
the  sight  of  her  unveiled  face.  It  was  the 
man  she  had  loved,  now — the  emotion  which 
had  made  him  hideous  to  her  was  past  and 
gone.  To  her,  as  to  him  the  night  before, 
death  seemed  the  solution  of  all  problems,  the 
supreme  answer  to  all  perplexing  questions. 

Ralph  crept  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the 


jforgtve* 
ness 


320 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


door  so  softly  that  she  did   not   hear.     She 

nc00 

was  alone,  as  every  woman  some  day  is ;  alone 
with  her  dead. 

She  threw  back  her  veil.  The  morning  sun 
lay  strong  upon  Anthony  Dexter's  face,  reveal 
ing  every  line.  Death  had  been  kind  to  him 
at  last,  had  closed  the  tortured  eyes,  blotted 
out  the  lines  of  cruelty  around  his  mouth,  and 
changed  the  mask-like  expression  to  a  tender 
calm. 

A  hint  of  the  old,  loving  smile  was  there; 
once  again  he  was  the  man  she  had  loved,  but 
the  love  itself  had  burned  out  of  her  heart  long 
ago.  He  was  naught  to  her,  nor  she  to  him. 

The  door  knob  turned,  and,  quickly,  she 
lowered  her  veil.  Piper  Tom  came  in,  with  a 
soft,  slow  step.  He  did  not  seem  to  see  Miss 
Evelina;  one  would  have  said  he  did  not  know 
she  was  in  the  room.  He  went  straight  to 
Anthony  Dexter,  and  laid  his  warm  hand  upon 
the  cold  one. 

"Man,"  he  said,  "  I  Ve  come  to  say  I  forgive 
you  for  hurting  Laddie.  I  'm  not  thinking, 
now,  that  you  would  have  done  it  if  you  had 
known.  I  'm  sorry  for  you  because  you  could 
do  it.  I  Ve  forgiven  you  as  I  hope  God  will 
forgive  you  for  that  and  for  everything  else." 


Then  he  turned  to  Evelina,  and  whispered, 
as  though  to  keep  the  dead  from  hearing: 
"  'T  was  hard,  but  I  've  done  it.  T  is  easier, 
I  'm  thinking,  to  forgive  the  dead  than  the 
living."  He  went  out  again,  as  silently  as  he 
had  come,  and  closed  the  door. 

Was  it,  in  truth,  easier  to  forgive  the  dead? 
In  her  inmost  soul,  Evelina  knew  that  she 
could  not  have  cherished  lifelong  resentment 
against  any  other  person  in  the  world.  To 
those  we  love  most,  we  are  invariably  most 
cruel,  but  she  did  not  love  him  now.  The  man 
she  had  loved  was  no  more  than  a  stranger — 
and  from  a  stranger  can  come  no  intentional 
wrong. 

"O  God,"  prayed  Evelina,  for  the  first 
time,  "  help  me  to  forgive!" 

She  threw  back  her  veil  once  more.  They 
were  face  to  face  at  last,  with  only  a  prayer 
between.  His  mute  helplessness  pleaded  with 
her  and  Ralph's  despairing  cry  rang  in  her  ears. 
The  estranging  mists  cleared,  and,  in  truth, 
she  put  self  aside. 

Intuitively,  she  saw  how  he  had  suffered 
since  the  night  he  came  to  her  to  make  it  right, 
if  he  could.  He  must  have  suffered,  unless 
he  were  more  than  human.  "  Dear  God," 


322 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


ness 


she     prayed,     again,     "  oh,     help     me     to 

,.        .       ,  ,, 

forgive  ! 

All  at  once  there  was  a  change.  The  light 
seemed  thrown  into  the  uttermost  places  of 
her  darkened  soul.  She  illumined,  and  a  wave 
of  infinite  pity  swept  her  from  head  to  foot. 
She  leaned  forward,  her  hands  seeking  his,  and 
upon  Anthony  Dexter's  dead  face  there  fell 
the  forgiving  baptism  of  her  tears. 

In  the  hall,  as  she  went  out,  she  encountered 
Miss  Mehitable.  That  face,  too,  was  changed. 
She  had  not  come,  as  comes  that  ghoulish  pro 
cession  of  merest  acquaintances,  to  gloat, 
living,  over  the  helpless  dead. 

At  the  sight  of  Evelina,  she  retreated.  "  I  '11 
go  back,"  murmured  Miss  Mehitable,  enigmat 
ically.  "  You  had  the  best  right.  " 

Evelina  went  down-stairs  and  home  again, 
but  Miss  Mehitable  did  not  enter  that  silent 
room. 

The  third  day  came,  and  there  was  no 
resurrection.  Since  the  miracle  of  Easter,  the 
world  has  waited  its  three  days  for  the  dead  to 
rise  again.  Ralph  sat  in  the  upper  hall,  just 
beyond  the  turn  of  the  stair,  and  beside  him, 
unveiled,  was  Miss  Evelina. 


323 


"  It 's  you  and  I,"  he  had  pleaded,  "  don't 
you  see  that?  Have  you  never  thought  that 
you  should  have  been  my  mother  ?  " 

From  below,  in  Thorpe's  deep  voice,  came  the 
words  of  the  burial  service:  "  I  am  the  resur 
rection  and  the  life.  He  that  believeth  on  me, 
though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live." 

For  a  few  moments,  Thorpe  spoke  of  death 
as  the  inevitable  end  of  life,  and  our  ignorance 
of  what  lies  beyond.  He  spoke  of  that  mystic 
veil  which  never  parts  save  for  a  passage,  and 
from  behind  which  no  word  ever  comes.  He 
said  that  life  was  a  rainbow  spanning  brilliantly 
the  two  silences,  that  man's  ceasing  was  no 
more  strange  than  his  beginning,  and  that  the 
God  who  ordained  the  beginning  had  also 
ordained  the  end.  He  said,  too,  that  the  love 
which  gave  life  might  safely  be  trusted  with 
that  same  life,  at  its  mysterious  conclusion. 
At  length,  he  struck  the  personal  note. 

"It  is  hard  for  me,"  Thorpe  went  on,  "  to 
perform  this  last  service  for  my  friend.  All  of 
you  are  my  friends,  but  the  one  who  lies  here 
was  especially  dear.  He  was  a  man  of  few 
friendships,  and  I  was  privileged  to  come  close, 
to  know  him  as  he  was. 

"  His  life  was  clean,  and  upon  his  record 


324 


Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


ness 


there  rests  no  shadow  of  disgrace."  At  this 
Ralph,  in  the  upper  hall,  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  Miss  Evelina  sat  quietly,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  unmoved. 

"  He  was  a  brave  man,"  Thorpe  was  saying; 
"a  valiant  soldier  on  the  great  battlefield  of  the 
world.  He  met  his  temptations  face  to  face, 
and  conquered  them.  For  him,  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  cowardice — he  never  shirked. 
He  met  every  responsibility  like  a  man,  and 
never  swerved  aside.  He  took  his  share,  and 
more,  of  the  world's  work,  and  did  it  nobly,  as 
a  man  should  do. 

"  His  brusque  manner  concealed  a  great 
heart.  I  fear  that,  at  times,  some  of  you  may 
have  misunderstood  him.  There  was  no  man 
in  our  community  more  deeply  and  lovingly 
the  friend  of  us  all,  and  there  is  no  man  among 
us  more  noble  in  thought  and  act  than  he. 

"We  who  have  known  him  cannot  but  be 
the  better  for  the  knowing.  It  would  be  a 
beautiful  world,  indeed,  if  we  were  all  as  good 
as  he.  We  cannot  fail  to  be  inspired  by  his 
example.  Through  knowing  him,  each  of  us 
is  better  fitted  for  life.  We  can  conquer  cow 
ardice  more  easily,  meet  our  temptations  more 
valiantly,  and  more  surely  keep  from  the  sin 


forgiveness 


325 


of  shirking,  because  Anthony  Dexter  has 
lived. 

"To  me,"  said  Thorpe,  his  voice  breaking, 
"  it  is  the  greatest  loss,  save  one,  that  I  have 
ever  known.  But  it  is  only  through  our  own 
sorrow  that  we  come  to  understand  the  sorrow 
of  others,  only  through  our  own  weaknesses 
that  we  learn  to  pity  the  weakness  of  others, 
and  only  through  our  own  love  and  forgiveness 
that  we  can  ever  comprehend  the  infinite  love 
and  forgiveness  of  God.  If  any  of  you  have 
ever  thought  he  wronged  you,  in  some  small, 
insignificant  way,  I  give  you  my  word  that  it 
was  entirely  unintentional,  and  I  bespeak  for 
him  your  pardon. 

"He  goes  to  his  grave  to-day,  to  wait,  in  the 
great  silence,  for  the  final  solution  of  God's 
infinite  mysteries,  and,  as  you  and  I  believe, 
for  God's  sure  reward.  He  goes  with  the  love 
of  us  all,  with  the  forgiveness  of  us  all,  and 
with  the  hope  of  us  all  that  when  we  come  to 
die,  we  may  be  as  certain  of  Heaven  as 
he." 

Perceiving  that  his  grief  was  overmastering 
him,  Thorpe  proceeded  quickly  to  the  benedic 
tion.  In  the  pause  that  followed,  Ralph  leaned 
toward  the  woman  who  sat  beside  him. 


326 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


neaa 


"  Have  you,"  he  breathed,  "  forgiven  him — 
and  me  ?  " 

Miss  Evelina  nodded,  her  beautiful  eyes 
shining  with  tears. 

"Mother!"  said  Ralph,  thickly.  Like  a 
hurt  child,  he  went  to  her,  and  sobbed  his  heart 
out,  in  the  shelter  of  her  arms. 


T 


XXIII 

ffinbs  Iber  Soul 

HE  year  was  at  its  noon.  Every  rose-bush 
was  glorious  with  bloom,  and  even  the 
old  climbing  rose  which  clung,  in  its  decay,  to 
Miss  Mehitable's  porch  railing  had  put  forth 
a  few  fragrant  blossoms. 

Soon  after  Araminta  had  been  carried  back 
home,  she  discovered  that  she  had  changed 
since  she  went  away.  Aunt  Hitty  no  longer 
seemed  infallible.  Indeed,  Araminta  had  ad 
mitted  to  herself,  though  with  the  pangs  of  a 
guilty  conscience,  that  it  was  possible  for  Aunt 
Hitty  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  probable  that 
the  entire  knowledge  of  the  world  was  not 
concentrated  in  Aunt  Hitty. 

Outwardly,  things  went  on  as  usual.  Miss 
Mehitable  issued  orders  to  Araminta  as  the 
commander  in  chief  of  an  army  issues  instruc 
tions  to  his  subordinates,  and  Araminta  obeyed 
as  faithfully  as  before,  yet  with  a  distinct 


327 


"Undine 

$in*B  Iber 

Soul 


328 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


TBn&ine 

ff  infra  *er 

Soul 


difference.  She  did  what  she  was  told  to  do 
out  of  gratitude  for  lifelong  care,  and  not 
because  she  felt  that  she  had  to. 

She  went,  frequently,  to  see  Miss  Evelina, 
having  disposed  of  objections  by  the  evident 
fact  that  she  could  not  neglect  any  one  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  her  as  Miss  Evelina  had. 
Usually,  however,  the  faithful  guardian  went 
along,  and  the  three  sat  in  the  garden,  Eve 
lina  with  her  frail  hands  listlessly  folded,  and 
the  others  stitching  away  at  the  endless  and 
monotonous  patchwork. 

Miss  Mehitable  had  a  secret  fear  that  the 
bloom  had  been  brushed  from  her  rose.  Until 
the  accident,  Araminta  had  scarcely  been  out 
of  her  sight  since  she  brought  her  home,  a 
toddling  infant.  Miss  Mehitable's  mind  had 
unerringly  controlled  two  bodies  until  Ara 
minta  fell  off  the  ladder.  Now,  the  other  mind 
began  to  show  distressing  signs  of  activity. 

By  dint  of  extra  work,  Araminta's  eighth 
patchwork  quilt  was  made  ready  for  quilting, 
and  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society  was  invited  to  Miss 
Mehitable's  for  the  usual  Summer  revelry  of 
quilting  and  gossip.  Miss  Evelina  was  invited, 
but  refused  to  go. 

After  the  festivity  was  over,  Miss  Mehitable 


ffinfcs  t>er  Soul 


329 


made  a  fruitful  excavation  into  a  huge  chest 
in  the  attic,  and  emerged,  flushed  but  happy, 
with  enough  scraps  for  three  quilts. 

"  This  here  next  quilt,  Minty,"  she  said,  with 
the  air  of  one  announcing  a  pleasant  surprise, 
"  will  be  the  Risin'  Sun  and  Star  pattern.  It 's 
harder  'n  the  others,  and  that 's  v/hy  I  've 
kep'  it  until  now.  You  've  done  all  them 
other  quilts  real  good,"  she  added,  grudgingly. 

Araminta  had  her  own  surprise  ready,  but  it 
was  not  of  a  pleasant  nature.  "  Thank  you, 
Aunt  Hitty,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  'm  not  going 
to  make  any  more  quilts,  for  a  while,  at  any 
rate." 

Miss  Mehitable's  lower  jaw  dropped  in 
amazement.  Never  before  had  Araminta  failed 
to  obey  her  suggestions.  "Minty,"  she  said, 
anxiously,  "  don't  you  feel  right?  It  was  hot 
yesterday,  and  the  excitement,  and  all — I 
dunno  but  you  may  have  had  a  stroke." 

Araminta  smiled — a  lovable,  winning  smile. 
"No,  I  haven't  had  any  'stroke,'  but  I  've 
made  all  the  quilts  I  'm  going  to  until  I  get  to 
be  an  old  woman,  and  have  nothing  else  to  do." 

"  What  are  you  layin'  out  to  do,  Minty  ?  " 
demanded  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  outdoors  all  I  want  to,  and 


"dn&ine 
Jf fn&0  t>er 


330 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


TUnMne 

jf  fn&s  Der 

Soul 


I  'm  going  up  to  Miss  Evelina's  and  play  with 
my  kitten,  and  help  you  with  the  housework, 
or  do  anything  else  you  want  me  to  do,  but — 
no  more  quilts/'  concluded  the  girl,  firmly. 

"  Araminta  Lee!"  cried  Miss  Mehitable, 
speech  having  returned.  "  If  I  ain  't  ashamed 
of  you !  Here  's  your  poor  old  aunt  that 's 
worked  her  fingers  to  the  bone,  slaving  for  you 
almost  ever  since  the  day  you  was  born,  and 
payin'  a  doctor's  outrageous  bill  of  four  dollars 
and  a  half — or  goin'  to  pay,"  she  corrected, 
her  conscience  reproaching  her,  "and  you 
refusin'  to  mind! 

"  Have  n't  I  took  good  care  of  you  all  these 
eighteen  years?  Have  n't  I  set  up  with  you 
when  you  was  sick  and  never  let  you  out  of  my 
sight  for  a  minute,  and  taught  you  to  be  as 
good  a  housekeeper  as  any  in  Rushton,  and 
made  you  into  a  first-class  seamstress,  and 
educated  you  myself,  and  looked  after  your 
religious  training,  and  made  your  clothes? 
Ain  't  I  been  father  and  mother  and  sister  and 
brother  and  teacher  and  grandparents  all  rolled 
into  one?  And  now  you  're  refusin'  to  make 
quilts!" 

Araminta's  heart  reproached  her,  but  the 
blood  of  some  fighting  ancestor  was  in  her 


Jfinfcs  f>er  Soul 


331 


pulses  now.  "  I  know,  Aunt  Hitty,"  she  said, 
kindly,  '  'you  've  done  all  that  and  more,  and 
I  'm  not  in  the  least  ungrateful,  though  you 
may  think  so.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  make 
any  more  quilts!" 

"  Araminta  Lee,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  warn- 
ingly,  "  look  careful  where  you  're  steppin'. 
Hell  is  yawning  in  front  of  you  this  very 
minute!" 

Araminta  smiled  sweetly.  Since  the  day 
the  minister  had  gone  to  see  her,  she  had  had 
no  fear  of  hell.  "  I  don  't  see  it,  Aunt  Hitty," 
she  said,  "  but  if  everybody  who  has  n't  pieced 
more  than  eight  quilts  by  hand  is  in  there, 
it  must  be  pretty  crowded." 

"Araminta  Lee,"  cried  Miss  Mehitable, 
"  you  're  your  mother  all  over  again.  She  got 
just  as  high-steppin'  as  you  before  her  downfall, 
and  see  where  she  ended  at.  She  was  mar 
ried,"  concluded  the  accuser,  scornfully,  "  yes, 
actually  married!" 

"Aunt  Hitty,"  said  Araminta,  her  sweet 
mouth  quivering  ever  so  little,  "  your  mother 
was  married,  too,  was  n't  she?"  With  this 
parting  shaft,  the  girl  went  out  of  the  room,  her 
head  held  high. 

Miss  Mehitable  stared  after  her,  uncompre- 


"dn&inc 

fffnfcs  Der 

Soul 


332 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"Cln&ine 

jf  int>s  Dec 

Soul 


bending.  Slowly  it  dawned  upon  her  that 
some  one  had  been  telling  tales  and  undoing 
her  careful  work.  "  Minty !  Minty !  "  she  cried, 
"  how  can  you  talk  to  me  so! " 

But  l  Minty 7  was  outdoors  and  on  her  way 
to  Miss  Evelina's,  bareheaded,  this  being 
strictly  forbidden,  so  she  did  not  hear.  She 
was  hoping  against  hope  that  some  day,  at 
Miss  Evelina's,  she  might  meet  Doctor  Ralph 
again  and  tell  him  she  was  sorry  she  had  broken 
his  heart. 

Since  the  day  he  went  away  from  her,  Ara- 
minta  had  not  had  even  a  glimpse  of  him. 
She  had  gone  to  his  father's  funeral,  as  everyone 
else  in  the  village  did,  and  had  wondered  that 
he  was  not  in  the  front  seat,  where,  in  her  brief 
experience  of  funerals,  mourners  usually  sat. 

She  admitted,  to  herself,  that  she  had  gone 
to  the  funeral  solely  for  the  sake  of  seeing 
Doctor  Ralph.  Araminta  was  wholly  destitute 
of  curiosity  regarding  the  dead,  and  she  had 
not  joined  the  interested  procession  which 
wound  itself  around  Anthony  Dexter's  coffin 
before  passing  out,  regretfully,  at  the  front 
door.  Neither  had  Miss  Mehitable.  At  the 
time,  Araminta  had  thought  it  strange,  for  at 
all  previous  occasions  of  the  kind,  within  her 


ffln&s  Der  Soul 


333 


remembrance,  Aunt  Hitty  had  been  well  up 
among  the  mourners  and  had  usually  gone 
around  the  casket  twice. 

At  Miss  Evelina's,  she  knocked  in  vain. 
There  was  white  chiffon  upon  the  line,  but  all 
the  doors  were  locked.  Doctor  Ralph  was  not 
there,  either,  and  even  the  kitten  was  not  in 
sight,  so,  regretfully,  Araminta  went  home 
again. 

Throughout  the  day,  Miss  Mehitable  did 
not  speak  to  her  erring  neice,  but  Araminta 
felt  it  to  be  a  relief,  rather  than  a  punishment. 
In  the  afternoon,  the  emancipated  young 
woman  put  on  her  best  gown — a  white,  cross- 
barred  muslin  which  she  had  made  herself. 
It  was  not  Sunday,  and  Araminta  was  for 
bidden  to  wear  the  glorified  raiment  save  on 
occasions  of  high  state. 

She  added  further  to  her  sins  by  picking  a 
pink  rose — Miss  Mehitable  did  not  think  flow 
ers  were  made  to  pick — and  fastening  it  coquet- 
tishly  in  her  brown  hair.  Moreover,  Araminta 
had  put  her  hair  up  loosely,  instead  of  in  the 
neat,  tight  wad  which  Miss  Mehitable  had 
forced  upon  her  the  day  she  donned  long  skirts. 

When  Miss  Mehitable  beheld  her  transformed 
charge  she  would  have  broken  her  vow  of 


Ibee 
Soul 


334 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"dnsine 

ffin&s  Ucr 

Soul 


silence  had  not  the  words  mercifully  failed. 
Aunt  Hitty's  vocabulary  was  limited,  and  she 
had  no  language  in  which  to  express  her  full 
opinion  of  the  wayward  one,  so  she  assumed, 
instead,  the  pose  of  a  suffering  martyr. 

The  atmosphere  at  the  table,  during  supper, 
was  icy,  even  though  it  was  the  middle  of 
June.  Thorpe  noticed  it  and  endeavoured 
to  talk,  but  was  not  successful.  Miss  Mehita- 
ble's  few  words,  which  were  invariably  ad 
dressed  to  him,  were  so  acrid  in  quality  that 
they  made  him  nervous.  The  Reverend 
Austin  Thorpe,  innocent  as  he  was  of  all  inten 
tional  wrong,  was  made  to  feel  like  a  criminal 
haled  to  the  bar  of  justice. 

But  Araminta  glowed  and  dimpled  and 
smiled.  Her  eyes  danced  with  mischief,  and 
the  colour  came  and  went  upon  her  velvety 
cheeks.  She  took  pains  to  ask  Aunt  Hitty 
for  the  salt  or  the  bread,  and  kept  up  a  contin 
uous  flow  of  high-spirited  talk.  Had  it  not 
been  for  Araminta,  the  situation  would  have 
become  openly  strained. 

Afterward,  she  began  to  clear  up  the  dishes 
as  usual,  but  Miss  Mehitable  pushed  her  out 
of  the  room  with  a  violence  indicative  of  sup 
pressed  passion.  So,  humming  a  hymn  at  an 


ffinfcs  foer  Soul 


335 


irreverent  tempo,  Araminta  went  out  and  sat 
down  on  the  front  porch,  spreading  down  the 
best  rug  in  the  house  that  she  might  not  soil 
her  gown.  This,  also,  was  forbidden. 

When  the  dishes  were  washed  and  put  away, 
Miss  Mehitable  came  out,  clad  in  her  rustling 
black  silk  and  her  best  bonnet.  "  Miss  Lee," 
she  said  very  coldly,  "  I  am  going  out.  " 

"  All  right,  Aunt  Hitty  "  returned  Araminta, 
cheerfully.  "  As  it  happens,  I  'm  not." 

Miss  Mehitable  repressed  an  exclamation  of 
horror.  Seemingly,  then,  it  had  occurred  to 
Araminta  to  go  out  in  the  evening — alone! 

Miss  Mehitable's  feet  moved  swiftly  away 
from  the  house.  She  was  going  to  the  residence 
of  the  oldest  and  most  orthodox  deacon  in 
Thorpe's  church,  to  ask  for  guidance  in  dealing 
with  her  wayward  charge,  but  Araminta  never 
dreamed  of  this. 

Dusk  came,  the  sweet,  June  dusk,  starred 
with  fireflies  and  clouded  with  great  white 
moths.  The  roses  and  mignonette  and  honey 
suckle  made  the  air  delicately  fragrant.  To 
the  emancipated  one,  it  was,  indeed,  a  beautiful 
world. 

Austin  Thorpe  came  out,  having  found  his 
room  unbearably  close.  As  the  near-sighted 


"dn&tne 

fftn&s  Her 

Soul 


336 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"dn&fne 


sometimes  do,  he  saw  more  clearly  at  twilight 
than  at  other  times. 

"  You  here,  child?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  here,"  replied  Araminta,  hap 
pily.  "  Sit  down,  won't  you?"  Having  taken 
the  first  step,  she  found  the  others  compara 
tively  easy,  and  was  rejoicing  in  her  new  free 
dom.  She  felt  sure,  too,  that  some  day  she 
should  see  Doctor  Ralph  once  more  and  all 
would  be  made  right  between  them. 

The  minister  sat  down  gladly,  his  old  heart 
yearning  toward  Araminta  as  toward  a  loved 
and  only  child.  "  Where  is  your  aunt?"  he 
asked,  timidly. 

"Goodness  knows,"  laughed  Araminta,  irrev 
erently.  "  She 's  gone  out,  in  all  her  best 
clothes.  She  did  n't  say  whether  she  was 
coming  back  or  not." 

Thorpe  was  startled,  for  he  had  never  heard 
speech  like  this  from  Araminta.  He  knew  her 
only  as  a  docile,  timid  child.  Now,  she  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  grown  up. 

For  her  part,  Araminta  remembered  how  the 
minister  had  once  helped  her  out  of  a  difficulty, 
and  taken  away  from  her  forever  the  terrible, 
haunting  fear  of  hell.  Here  was  a  dazzling 
opportunity  to  acquire  new  knowledge. 


ZttnOine  JftnDs  Der  Soul 


337 


"Mr.  Thorpe,"  she  demanded,  eagerly, 
"  what  is  it  to  be  married?" 

"To  be  married,"  repeated  Austin  Thorpe, 
dreamily,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  firefly  that  flit 
ted,  star-like,  near  the  rose,  "  is,  I  think,  the 
nearest  this  world  can  come  to  Heaven." 

"Oh!"  cried  Araminta,  in  astonishment. 
"  What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  It  means,"  answered  Thorpe,  softly,  "  that 
a  man  and  a  woman  whom  God  meant  to  be 
mated  have  found  each  other  at  last.  It 
means  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  that  you 
have  to  face  alone,  that  all  your  joys  are 
doubled  and  all  your  sorrows  shared.  It 
means  that  there  is  no  depth  into  which  you 
can  go  alone,  that  one  other  hand  is  always  in 
yours;  trusting,  clinging,  tender,  to  help  you 
bear  whatever  comes. 

"  It  means  that  the  infinite  love  has  been 
given,  in  part,  to  you,  for  daily  strength  and 
comfort.  It  is  a  balm  for  every  wound,  a  spur 
for  every  lagging,  a  sure  dependence  in  every 
weakness,  a  belief  in  every  doubt.  The  perfect 
being  is  neither  man  nor  woman,  but  a  merging 
of  dual  natures  into  a  united  whole.  To  be 
married  gives  a  man  a  woman's  tenderness;  a 
woman,  a  man's  courage.  The  long  years 


"Gltrtine 

3f  inds  feet 

Soul 


338 


H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


"ClnMne 
If  into  *e 
Soul 


stretch  before  them,  and  what  lies  beyond  no 
one  can  say,  but  they  face  it,  smiling  and  serene, 
because  they  are  together." 

"  My  mother  was  married,"  said  Araminta, 
softly.  All  at  once,  the  stain  of  disgrace  was 
wiped  out. 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  and,  I  hope,  to  the  man 
she  loved,  as  I  hope  that  some  day  you  will  be 
married  to  the  man  who  loves  you." 

Araminta's  whole  heart  yearned  toward 
Ralph — yearned  unspeakably.  In  something 
else,  surely,  Aunt  Hitty  was  wrong. 

"  Araminta,"  said  Thorpe,  his  voice  shaking; 
"  dear  child,  come  here." 

She  followed  him  into  the  house.  His 
trembling  old  hands  lighted  a  candle  and 
she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
From  an  inner  pocket,  he  drew  out  a  small 
case,  wrapped  in  many  thicknesses  of  worn 
paper.  He  unwound  it  reverently,  his  face 
alight  with  a  look  she  had  never  seen  there 
before. 

"  See!"  he  said.  He  opened  the  ornate  case 
and  showed  her  an  old  daguerreotype.  A 
sweet,  girlish  face  looked  out  at  her,  a  woman 
with  trusting,  loving  eyes,  a  sweet  mouth,  and 
dark,  softly  parted  hair.. 


TUn&ine  Jfinfcs  1ber  Soul 


339 


"Oh,"  whispered  Araminta.  "Were  you 
married — to  her?  " 

"No,"  answered  Thorpe,  hoarsely,  shutting 
the  case  with  a  snap  and  beginning  to  wrap 
it  again  in  the  many  folds  of  paper.  "  I  was 
to  have  been  married  to  her."  His  voice 
lingered  with  inexpressible  fondness  upon  the 
words.  "  She  died, "  he  said,  his  lips  quivering. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  "I'm  sorry!"  A 
sharp  pang  pierced  her  through  and  through. 

"Child,"  said  Thorpe,  his  wrinkled  hand 
closing  on  hers,  "to  those  who  love,  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  Death.  Do  you  think  that  just 
because  she  is  dead,  I  have  ceased  to  care? 
Death  has  made  her  mine  as  Life  could  never 
do.  She  walks  beside  me  daily,  as  though  we 
were  hand  in  hand.  Her  tenderness  makes 
me  tender,  her  courage  gives  me  strength,  her 
great  charity  makes  me  kind.  Her  belief 
has  made  my  own  faith  more  sure,  her  stead 
fastness  keeps  me  from  faltering,  and  her 
patience  enables  me  to  wait  until  the  end, 
when  I  go,  into  the  Unknown,  to  meet  her. 
Child,  I  do  not  know  if  there  be  a  Heaven,  but 
if  God  gives  me  her,  and  her  love,  as  I  knew  it 
once,  1  shall  not  ask  for  more." 

Unable  to  say  more,  for  the  tears,  Thorpe 


THnlrtne 


Soul 


340 


B  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


TOnMnc 


r 
Soul 


stumbled  out  of  the  room.  Araminta's  own 
eyes  were  wet  and  her  heart  was  strangely 
tender  to  all  the  world.  Miss  Evelina,  the 
kitten,  Mr.  Thorpe,  Doctor  Ralph — even  Aunt 
Hitty — were  all  included  in  a  wave  of  un 
speakable  tenderness. 

Never  stopping  to  question,  Araminta 
sped  out  of  the  house,  her  feet  following 
where  her  heart  led.  Past  the  crossroads,  to 
the  right,  down  into  the  village,  across  the 
tracks,  then  sharply  to  the  left,  up  to  Doc 
tor  Dexter's,  where,  only  a  few  weeks  before, 
she  had  gone  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Doctor 
Ralph,  Araminta  ran  like  some  young  Ata- 
lanta,  across  whose  path  no  golden  apples 
were  thrown. 

The  door  was  open,  and  she  rushed  in,  un 
thinking,  turning  by  instinct  into  the  library, 
where  Ralph  sat  alone,  leaning  his  head  upon 
his  hand. 

"  Doctor  Ralph!"  she  cried,  "I've  come! " 

He  looked  up,  then  started  forward.  One 
look  into  her  glorified  face  told  him  all  that  he 
needed  to  know.  "  Undine,"  he  said,  huskily, 
"  have  you  found  your  soul?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  've  found,"  sobbed 
Araminta,  from  the  shelter  of  his  arms,  "  but 


Jf  fn&s  Ibet  Soul 


341 


I  've  come,  to  stay  with  you  always,  if  you  '11 
let  me!" 

"If  I  '11  let  you,"  murmured  Ralph,  kissing 
away  her  happy  tears.  "  You  little  saint,  it 's 
what  I  want  as  I  want  nothing  else  in  the 
world." 

"  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  married,"  said 
Araminta,  after  a  little,  her  grave,  sweet  eyes 
on  his.  "  I  asked  Mr.  Thorpe  to-night  and  he 
told  me.  It 's  to  be  always  with  the  one  you 
love,  and  never  to  mind  what  anybody  else 
says  or  does.  It 's  to  help  each  other  bear 
everything  and  be  twice  as  happy  because 
you  're  together.  It  means  that  somebody 
will  always  help  you  when  things  go  wrong, 
and  there  '11  always  be  something  you  can  lean 
on.  You  '11  never  be  afraid  of  anything, 
because  you  're  together.  My  mother  was 
married,  your  mother  was  married,  and  I  've 
found  out  that  Aunt  Hitty's  mother  was 
married,  too. 

"  And  Mr.  Thorpe — he  would  have  been 
married,  but  she  died.  He  told  me  and  he 
showed  me  her  picture,  and  he  says  that  it 
does  n't  make  any  difference  to  be  dead,  when 
you  love  anybody,  and  that  Heaven,  for  him, 
will  be  where  she  waits  for  him  and  puts  her 


TUnMne 

firtos  t>« 

Soul 


342 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Uln&ine 

ffints  Der 

Soul 


hand  in  his  again.  He  was  crying,  and  so  was 
I,  but  it 's  because  he  has  her  and  I  have 
you ! " 

"  Sweetheart !  Darling ! ' '  cried  Ralph,  crush 
ing  her  into  his  close  embrace.  "  It 's  God 
Himself  who  brought  you  to  me  now!" 

"No,"  returned  Araminta,  missing  the 
point,  "  I  came  all  by  myself.  And  I  ran  all 
the  way.  Nobody  brought  me.  But  I  've 
come,  for  always,  and  I  '11  never  leave  you 
again.  I  'm  sorry  I  broke  your  heart ! " 

"You've  made  it  well  again,"  he  said, 
fondly,  "  and  so  we  '11  be  married — you  and  I." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Araminta,  her  beautiful 
face  alight  with  love,  "  we  '11  be  married, 
you  and  I ! " 

"  Sweet,"  he  said,  "  do  you  think  I  deserve 
so  much?" 

"  Being  married  is  giving  everything,"  she 
explained,  "  but  I  have  n't  anything  at  all. 
Only  eight  quilts  and  me!  Do  you  care  for 
quilts?  " 

"  Quilts  be  everlastingly  condemned.  I  'm 
going  to  tell  Aunt  Hitty." 

"No,"  said  Araminta,  "  I  'm  going  to  tell 
her  my  own  self,  so  now!  And  I  '11  tell  her 
to-morrow!" 


mn&fne  ff  fn&s  fber  Soul 


343 


It  was  after  ten  when  Ralph  took  Araminta 
home.  From  the  parlour  window  Miss  Mehit- 
able  was  watching  anxiously.  She  had  di 
vested  herself  of  the  rustling  black  silk  and  was 
safely  screened  by  the  shutters.  She  had  been 
at  home  an  hour  or  more,  and  though  she  had 
received  plenty  of  good  advice,  of  a  stern 
nature,  from  her  orthodox  counsellor,  her  mind 
was  far  from  at  rest.  Having  conjured  up 
all  sorts  of  dire  happenings,  she  was  relieved 
when  she  heard  voices  outside. 

Miss  Mehitable  peered  out  eagerly  from 
behind  the  shutters.  Up  the  road  came 
Araminta — may  the  saints  preserve  us ! —  with 
a  man!  Miss  Mehitable  quickly  placed  him 
as  that  blackmailing  play-doctor  who  now 
should  never  have  his  four  dollars  and  a  half 
unless  he  collected  it  by  law.  Only  in  the  last 
ditch  would  she  surrender. 

They  were  talking  and  laughing,  and  Ralph's 
black-coated  arm  was  around  Araminta's 
white-robed  waist.  They  came  slowly  to  the 
gate,  where  they  stopped.  Araminta  laid  her 
head  confidingly  upon  Ralph's  shoulder  and 
he  held  her  tightly  in  his  arms,  kissing  her 
repeatedly,  as  Miss  Mehitable  guessed,  though 
she  could  not  see  very  well. 


tUndfne 

tnba  f>er 

Soul 


344 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


THnbtne 

tf  tnl»s  Det 

Soul 


At  last  they  parted  and  Araminta  ran  lightly 
into  the  house,  saying,  in  a  low,  tender  voice: 
"  To-morrow,  dear,  to-morrow! " 

She  went  up-stairs,  singing.  Even  then 
Miss  Mehitable  observed  that  it  was  not  a 
hymn,  but  some  light  and  ungodly  tune  she 
had  picked  up,  Heaven  knew  where! 

She  went  to  her  room,  still  humming,  and 
presently  her  light  was  out,  but  her  guardian 
angel  was  too  stiff  with  horror  to  move. 

"  O  Lord,"  prayed  Araminta,  as  she  sank  to 
sleep,  "  keep  me  from  the  contamination  of — 
not  being  married  to  him,  for  Thy  sake, 
Amen." 


345 


XXIV 

^ellins  Hunt  Ibitt? 

A  RAMINTA  woke  with  the  birds.  As  yet,  it 
•*V  was  dark,  but  from  afar  came  the  cheery 
voice  of  a  robin,  piping  gaily  of  coming  dawn. 
When  the  first  ray  of  light  crept  into  her  room, 
and  every  bird  for  miles  around  was  swelling 
his  tiny  throat  in  song,  it  seemed  to  her  that, 
until  now,  she  had  never  truly  lived. 

The  bird  that  rocked  on  the  maple  branch, 
outside  her  window, carolling  with  all  his  might, 
was  no  more  free  than  she.  Love  had  rolled 
away  the  stone  Aunt  Hitty  had  set  before  the 
door  of  Araminta's  heart,  and  the  imprisoned 
thing  was  trying  its  wings,  as  joyously  as  the 
birds  themselves. 

Every  sense  was  exquisitely  alive  and  thrill 
ing.  Had  she  been  older  and  known  more  of 
the  world,  Love  would  not  have  come  to  her 
so,  but  rather  with  a  great  peace,  an  unending 
trust.  But  having  waked  as  surely  as  the 


346 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


sleeping  princess  in  the  tower,  she  knew  the 
Hunt] 

uttermost  ecstasy  of  it  —  heard  the  sound  of 

singing  trumpets  and  saw  the  white  light. 

Her  fear  of  Aunt  Hitty  had  died,  mysteri 
ously  and  suddenly.  She  appreciated  now,  as 
never  before,  all  that  had  been  done  for  her. 
She  saw,  too,  that  many  things  had  been  done 
that  were  better  left  undone,  but  in  her  happy 
heart  was  no  condemnation  for  anybody  or 
anything. 

Araminta  dressed  leisurely.  Usually,  she 
hurried  into  her  clothes  and  ran  down-stairs 
to  help  Aunt  Hitty,  who  was  always  ready  for 
the  day's  work  before  anybody  else  was  awake 
but  this  morning  she  took  her  time. 

She  loved  the  coolness  of  the  water  on  her 
face,  she  loved  her  white  plump  arms,  her 
softly  rounded  throat,  the  velvety  roses  that 
blossomed  on  her  cheeks,  and  the  wavy  brown 
masses  of  her  hair,  touched  by  the  sun  into 
tints  of  copper  and  gold.  For  the  first  time 
in  all  her  life,  Araminta  realised  that  she  was 
beautiful.  She  did  not  know  that  Love  brings 
beauty  with  it,  nor  that  the  light  in  her  eyes, 
like  a  new  star,  had  not  risen  until  last 
night. 

She  was  seriously  tempted  to  slide  down  the 


Hunt  Ibitts  347 


banister — this  also  having  been  interdicted 
since  her  earliest  remembrance — but,  being  a 
grown  woman,  now,  she  compromised  with 
herself  by  taking  two  stairs  at  a  time  in  a  light, 
skipping,  perilous  movement  that  landed  her, 
safe  but  breathless,  in  the  lower  hall. 

In  the  kitchen,  wearing  an  aspect  distinctly 
funereal,  was  Miss  Mehitable.  Her  brisk,  ac 
tive  manner  was  gone  and  she  moved  slowly. 
She  did  not  once  look  up  as  Araminta  came 
in. 

"  Good-morning,  Aunt  Hitty !"  cried  the  girl, 
pirouetting  around  the  bare  floor.  "  Is  n't  this 
the  beautifullest  morning  that  ever  was,  and 
are  n't  you  glad  you  're  alive?  " 

"No,"  returned  Miss  Mehitable,  acidly; 
"  I  am  not." 

"  Are  n't  you?"  asked  Araminta,  casually, 
too  happy  to  be  deeply  concerned  about  any 
body  else;  "  why,  what 's  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  should  think,  Araminta  Lee,  that  you  'd 
be  the  last  one  on  earth  to  ask  what 's  wrong! " 
The  flood  gates  were  open  now.  "  Was  n't 
it  only  yesterday  that  you  broke  away  from  all 
restraint  and  refused  to  make  any  more  quilts? 
Did  n't  you  put  on  your  best  dress  in  the  after 
noon  when  't  want  Sunday  and  I  had  n't  told 


348 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


yOU  tnaf;  yOU  couid?  Did  n't  you  pick  a  rose 
and  stick  it  into  your  hair,  and  have  I  ever 
allowed  you  to  pick  a  flower  on  the  place,  to 
say  nothing  of  doing  anything  so  foolish  as  to 
put  it  in  your  hair?  Flowers  and  hair  don't 
go  together/' 

"There's  hair  in  the  parlour,"  objected 
Araminta,  frivolously,  "  made  up  into  a  wreath 
of  flowers,  so  I  thought  as  long  as  you  had  them 
made  out  of  dead  people's  hair,  I  'd  put  some 
roses  in  mine,  now,  while  I  'm  alive." 

Miss  Mehitable  compressed  her  lips  sternly 
and  went  on. 

"  Did  n't  you  take  a  rug  out  of  the  parlour 
last  night  and  spread  it  on  the  porch,  and  have 
I  ever  had  rugs  outdoor  except  when  they 
was  being  beat?  And  did  n't  you  sit  down  on 
the  front  porch,  where  I  've  never  allowed  you 
to  sit,  it  not  being  modest  for  a  young  female 
to  sit  outside  of  her  house?  " 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Araminta,  cheerfully,  "  I 
did  all  those  things,  and  I  put  my  hair  up  loosely 
instead  of  tightly,  as  you  've  always  taught  me. 
You  forgot  that." 

"No,  I  didn't,"  denied  Miss  Mehitable, 
vigorously;  "  I  was  coming  to  that.  Didn't 
you  go  up  to  Miss  Evelina's  without  asking  me 


Celling  Hunt  Dtttp 


349 


as  I  've  never  allowed  you  to  do?  " 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Araminta,  "  I  did." 

"After  I  went  away,"  pursued  Miss  Mehita- 
ble,  swiftly  approaching  her  climax,  "  did  n't 
you  go  up  to  Doctor  Dexter's  like  a  shameless 
hussy?" 

"  If  it  makes  a  shameless  hussy  of  me  to  go 
to  Doctor  Dexter's,  that 's  what  I  am." 

"  You  went  there  to  see  Doctor  Ralph  Dexter, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  sang  Araminta,  "and 
oh,  Aunt  Hitty,  he  was  there!  He  was 
there! " 

"  Ain't  I  told  you,"  demanded  Miss  Mehita- 
ble,  "  how  one  woman  went  up  there  when  she 
had  no  business  to  go  and  got  burnt  so  awful 
that  she  has  to  wear  a  veil  all  the  rest  of  her 
life?" 

"  Yes,  you  told  me,  Aunt  Hitty,  but,  you 
see,  I  did  n't  get  burned." 

"  Araminta  Lee,  you  're  going  right  straight 
to  hell,  just  as  fast  as  you  can  get  there.  Perdi 
tion  is  yawning  at  your  feet.  Did  n't  that 
blackmailing  play-doctor  come  home  with 
you  ?" 

"  Ralph,"  said  Araminta — and  the  way  she 


if  you  could,  and  did  n't  you  go  bareheaded, 

Hunt 


Dittie 


350 


H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 


spoke  his  name  made  it  a  caress  —  "  Ralph  came 
home  with  me." 

"  I  saw  you  comin'  home,"  continued  Miss 
Mehitable,  with  her  sharp  eyes  keenly  fixed 
upon  the  culprit.  "  I  saw  his  arm  around 
your  waist  and  you  leanin'  your  head  on  his 
shoulder." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Araminta,  "I  haven't 
forgotten.  I  can  feel  his  arms  around  me  now." 

"  And  at  the  gate  —  you  need  n't  deny  it,  for 
I  saw  it  all—  he  KISSED  you!" 

"  That  's  right,  Aunt  Hitty.  At  his  house, 
he  kissed  me,  too,  lots  and  lots  of  times.  And," 
she  added,  her  eyes  meeting  her  accuser's 
clearly,  "  I  kissed  him." 

"  How  do  you  suppose  I  feel  to  see  such 
goin's  on,  after  all  I  've  done  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  need  n't  have  looked,  Aunty,  if  you 
did  n't  like  to  see  it." 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  went  when  I  went 
out?  I  went  up  to  Deacon  Robinson's  to  lay 
your  case  before  him."  Miss  Mehitable  paused, 
for  the  worthy  deacon  was  the  fearsome  spectre 
of  young  sinners. 

Araminta  executed  an  intricate  dance  step 
of  her  own  devising,  but  did  not  seem  interested 
in  the  advice  he  had  given. 


Hunt  f>itts  351 


"  He  told  me,"  went  on  Miss  Mehitable.  in 
the  manner  of  a  judge  pronouncing  sentence 
upon  a  criminal,  "  that  at  any  cost  I  must 
trample  down  this  godless  uprising,  and 
assert  my  rightful  authority.  '  Honour  thy 
father  and  thy  mother/  the  Bible  says,  and 
I  'm  your  father  and  mother,  rolled  into  one. 
He  said  that  if  I  could  n't  make  you  listen 
in  any  other  way,  it  would  be  right  and  proper 
for  me  to  shut  you  up  in  your  room  and  keep 
you  on  bread  and  water  until  you  came  to 
your  senses." 

Araminta  giggled.  "  I  would  n't  be  there 
long,"  she  said.  "  How  funny  it  would  be 
for  Ralph  to  come  with  a  ladder  and  take  me 
out!" 

"  Araminta  Lee,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Why,"  explained  the  girl,  "  we  're  going  to 
be  married— Ralph  and  I." 

A  nihilist  bomb  thrown  into  the  immacul 
ate  kitchen  could  not  have  surprised  Miss 
Mehitable  more.  She  had  no  idea  that  it  had 
gone  so  far.  "  Married!"  she  gasped.  "  You!  " 

"  Not  just  me  alone,  Aunty,  but  Ralph  and 
I.  There  has  to  be  two,  and  I  'm  of  age,  so 
I  can  if  I  want  to."  This  last  heresy  had  been 
learned  from  Ralph,  only  the  night  before. 


352 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


"  Married! "  gasped  Miss  Mehitable,  again. 

"Yes,"  returned  Araminta,  firmly,  "mar 
ried.  My  mother  was  married,  and  Ralph's 
mother  was  married,  and  your  mother  was 
married.  Everybody's  mother  is  married, 
and  Mr.  Thorpe  says  it  's  the  nearest  there 
is  to  Heaven.  He  was  going  to  be  married 
himself,  but  she  died. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Hitty,"  cooed  Araminta,  with 
winning  sweetness,  "  don't  look  so  frightened. 
It's  nothing  dreadful,  it's  only  natural  and 
right,  and  I  'm  the  happiest  girl  the  sun  shines 
on  to-day.  Don't  be  selfish,  Aunty — you  've 
had  me  all  my  life,  and  it 's  his  turn  now.  I  '11 
come  to  see  you  every  day  and  you  can  come 
and  see  me.  Kiss  me,  and  tell  me  you  're  glad 
I  'm  going  to  be  married! " 

At  this  juncture,  Thorpe  entered  the  kitchen, 
not  aware  that  he  was  upon  forbidden  ground. 
Attracted  by  the  sound  of  voices,  he  had  come 
in,  just  in  time  to  hear  Araminta's  last  words. 

"Dear  child!"  he  said,  his  fine  old  face 
illumined.  "  And  so  you  're  going  to  be  mar 
ried  to  the  man  you  love!  I  'm  so  glad!  God 
bless  you!"  He  stooped,  and  kissed  Araminta 
gently  upon  the  forehead. 

Having  thus  seen,  as  it  were,  the  sanction 


Ueiltng  Hunt  HMttg 


353 


of  the  Church  placed  upon  Araminta's  startling 
announcement,  Miss  Mehitable  could  say  no 
more.  During  breakfast  she  did  not  speak 
at  all,  even  to  Thorpe.  Araminta  chattered 
gleefully  of  everything  under  the  blue  heaven, 
and  even  the  minister  noted  the  liquid  melody 
of  her  voice. 

Afterward,  she  went  out,  as  naturally  as  a 
flower  turns  toward  the  sun.  It  was  a  part  of 
the  magic  beauty  of  the  world  that  she  should 
meet  Ralph,  just  outside  the  gate,  with  a 
face  as  radiant  as  her  own. 

'"I  was  coming,"  he  said,  after  the  first 
rapture  had  somewhat  subsided,  "  to  tell  Aunt 
Hitty." 

"  I  told  her/'  returned  the  girl,  proudly, 
"  all  by  my  own  self!" 

"  You  don 't  mean  it!  What  did  she 
say?" 

"  She  said  everything.  She  told  me  hell  was 
yawning  at  my  feet,  but  I  'm  sure  it 's  Heaven. 
She  said  that  she  was  my  father  and  mother 
rolled  into  one,  and  I  was  obliged  to  remind 
her  that  I  was  of  age.  You  thought  of 
that,"  she  said,  admiringly.  "  I  did  n't  even 
know  that  I  'd  ever  get  old  enough  not  to 
mind  anybody  but  myself- -or  you." 


Celling 
Hunt 
Dfttg 


354 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


•Celling 
Hunt 
Ibttts 


"  You  won't  have  to  'mind'  me,"  laughed 
Ralph.  "  I  '11  give  you  a  long  rope." 

"  What  would  I  do  with  a  rope?"  queried 
Araminta,  seriously. 

"  You  funny,  funny  girl!  Did  n't  you  ever 
see  a  cow  staked  out  in  a  pasture?" 

"  Yes.    Am  I  a  cow?  " 

"  For  the  purposes  of  illustration,  yes,  and 
Aunt  Hitty  represents  the  stake.  For  eighteen 
or  nineteen  years,  your  rope  has  been  so  short 
that  you  could  hardly  move  at  all.  Now 
things  are  changed,  and  I  represent  the  stake. 
You  've  got  the  longest  rope,  now,  that  was 
ever  made  in  one  piece.  See?" 

"  I  '11  come  back,"  answered  Araminta,  se 
riously.  "  I  don't  think  I  need  any  rope  at  all." 

"  No,  dear,  I  know  that.  I  was  only  joking. 
You  poor  child,  you  've  lived  so  long  with  that 
old  dragon  that  you  scarcely  recognise  a  joke 
when  you  see  one.  A  sense  of  humour,  Ara 
minta,  is  a  saving  grace  for  anybody.  Next 
to  Love,  it 's  the  finest  gift  of  the  gods." 

"  Have  I  got  it?  " 

"  I  guess  so.  I  think  it  's  asleep,  but  we  '11 
wake  it  up.  Look  here,  dear — see  what  I 
brought  you." 

From  his  pocket,  Ralph  took  a  small  purple 


Hunt  HMtts 


355 


velvet  case,  lined  with  white  satin.    Within 

Bunt 

was  a  ring,  set  with  a  diamond,  small  in  cir- 
cumference,  but  deep,  and  of  unusual  brilliancy. 
By  a  singular  coincidence,  it  fitted  Araminta's 
third  finger  exactly. 

"Oh-h!"  she  cried,  her  cheeks  glowing. 
"  For  me?" 

"  Yes,  for  you  —  till  I  get  you  another  one. 
This  was  my  mother's  ring,  sweetheart.  I 
found  it  among  my  father's  things.  Will  you 
wear  it,  for  her  sake  and  for  mine?  " 

"  I  '11  wear  it  always,"  answered  Araminta, 
her  great  grey  eyes  on  his,  "  and  I  don't  want 
any  other  ring.  Why,  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
her,  I  never  could  have  had  you." 

Ralph  took  her  into  his  arms.  His  heart 
was  filled  with  that  supreme  love  which  has  no 
need  of  words. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Mehitable  was  having  her 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour.  Man-like,  Thorpe 
had  taken  himself  away  from  a  spot  where  he 
felt  there  was  about  to  be  a  display  of  emotion. 
She  was  in  the  house  alone,  and  the  acute 
stillness  of  it  seemed  an  accurate  foreshadow 
ing  of  the  future. 

Miss  Mehitable  was  not  among  those  rare 


356 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


souls    who    are    seldom    lonely.     Her    nature 

Hunt 

demanded  continuous  conversation,  the  sub 
ject  alone  being  unimportant.  Every  thought 
that  came  into  her  mind  was  destined  for  a 
normal  outlet  in  speech.  She  had  no  mental 
reservoir. 

Araminta  was  going  away — to  be  married. 
In  spite  of  her  trouble,  Miss  Mehitable  noted 
the  taint  of  heredity.  "  It 's  in  her  blood," 
she  murmured,  "  and  maybe  Minty  ain't  so 
much  to  blame." 

In  this  crisis,  however,  Miss  Mehitable  had 
the  valiant  support  of  her  conscience.  She 
had  never  allowed  the  child  to  play  with  boys 
—in  fact,  she  had  not  had  any  playmates  at  all. 
As  soon  as  Araminta  was  old  enough  to  under 
stand,  she  was  taught  that  boys  and  men— 
indeed  all  human  things  that  wore  trousers, 
long  or  short — were  rank  poison,  and  were  to 
be  steadfastly  avoided  if  a  woman  desired  peace 
of  mind.  Miss  Mehitable  frequently  said  that 
she  had  everything  a  husband  could  have  given 
her  except  a  lot  of  trouble. 

Daily,  almost  hourly,  the  wisdom  of  single 
blessedness  had  been  impressed  upon  Araminta. 
Miss  Mehitable  neglected  no  illustration  cal 
culated  to  bring  the  lesson  home.  She  had 


Hunt 


357 


even  taught  her  that  her  own  mother  was  an 

Bunt 

outcast  and  had  brought  disgrace  upon  her 
family  by  marrying;  she  had  held  aloft  her 
maiden  standard  and  literally  compelled  Ara 
minta  to  enlist. 

Now,  all  her  work  had  gone  for  naught. 
Nature  had  triumphantly  reasserted  itself, 
and  Araminta  had  fallen  in  love.  The  years 
stretched  before  Miss  Mehitable  in  a  vast  and 
gloomy  vista  illumined  by  no  light.  No  soft 
step  upon  the  stair,  no  sunny  face  at  her  table, 
no  sweet,  girlish  laugh,  no  long  companionable 
afternoons  with  patchwork,  while  she  talked 
and  Araminta  listened.  At  the  thought,  her 
stern  mouth  quivered,  ever  so  slightly,  and, 
all  at  once,  she  found  the  relief  of  tears. 

An  hour  or  so  afterward,  she  went  up  to  the 
attic,  walking  with  a  stealthy,  cat-like  tread, 
though  there  was  no  one  in  the  house  to  hear. 
In  a  corner,  far  back  under  the  eaves,  three 
trunks  were  piled,  one  on  top  of  the  other. 
Miss  Hitty  lifted  off  the  two  top  trunks  without 
apparent  effort,  for  her  arms  were  strong,  and 
drew  the  lowest  one  out  into  the  path  of  sun 
light  that  lay  upon  the  floor,  maple  branches 
swaying  across  it  in  silhouette. 

In  another  corner  of  the  attic,  up  among 


358 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Uetling 
Bunt 


the  rafters,  was  a  box  apparently  filled  with 
old  newspapers.  Miss  Hitty  reached  down 
among  the  newspapers  with  accustomed  fingers 
and  drew  out  a  crumpled  wad,  tightly  wedged 
into  one  corner  of  the  box. 

She  listened  carefully  at  the  door,  but  there 
was  no  step  in  the  house.  She  was  absolutely 
alone.  None  the  less,  she  bolted  the  door  of 
the  attic  before  she  picked  the  crumpled  paper 
apart,  and  took  out  the  key  of  the  trunk. 

The  old  lock  opened  readily,  and  from  the 
trunk  came  the  musty  odour  of  long-dead 
lavender  and  rosemary,  lemon  verbena  and 
rose  geranium.  On  top  was  Barbara  Lee's 
wedding  gown.  Miss  Hitty  always  handled 
it  with  reverence  not  unmixed  with  awe,  never 
having  had  a  wedding  gown  herself. 

Underneath  were  the  baby  clothes  which 
the  girl-wife  had  begun  to  make  when  she  first 
knew  of  her  child's  coming.  The  cloth  was 
none  too  fine  and  the  little  garments  were  awk 
wardly  cut  and  badly  sewn,  but  every  stitch 
had  been  guided  by  a  great  love. 

Araminta's  first  shoes  were  there,  too — 
soft,  formless  things  of  discoloured  white  kid. 
Folded  in  a  yellowed  paper  was  a  tiny,  golden 
curl,  snipped  secretly,  and  marked  on  the  out- 


Hunt  ...,»„,..:  359 


side:  "  Minty's   hair."     Farther  down  in   the 

J  Hunt 

trunk  were  the  few  relics  of  Miss  Mehitable's 
far-away  girlhood. 

A  dog-eared  primer,  a  string  of  bright  buttons, 
a  broken  slate,  a  ragged,  disreputable  doll,  and 
a  few  blown  birds'  eggs  carefully  packed  away 
in  a  small  box  of  cotton — these  were  her  treas 
ures.  There  was  an  old  autograph  album  with 
a  gay  blue  cover  which  the  years  in  the  trunk 
had  not  served  to  fade.  Far  down  in  the  trunk 
was  a  package  which  Miss  Mehitable  took  out 
reverently.  It  was  large  and  flat  and  tied  with 
heavy  string  in  hard  knots.  She  untied  the 
knots  patiently — her  mother  had  taught  her 
never  to  cut  a  string. 

Underneath  was  more  paper,  and  more  string. 
It  took  her  half  an  hour  to  bring  to  light  the 
inmost  contents  of  the  package,  bound  in  layer 
after  layer  of  fine  muslin,  but  not  tied.  She 
unrolled  the  yellowed  cloth  carefully,  for  it  was 
very  frail.  At  last  she  took  out  a  photograph 
— Anthony  Dexter  at  three-and-twenty — and 
gazed  at  it  long. 

On  one  page  of  her  autograph  album  was 
written  an  old  rhyme.  The  ink  had  faded 
so  that  it  was  scarcely  legible,  but  Miss  Hitty 
knew  it  by  heart: 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


Uclling  '"If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 

No  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two.' 
"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  ANTHONY  DEXTER." 

Like  a  tiny  sprig  of  lavender  taken  from  a 
bush  which  has  never  bloomed,  this  bit  of 
romance  lay  far  back  in  the  secret  places  of  her 
life.  She  had  a  knot  of  blue  ribbon  which 
Anthony  Dexter  had  once  given  her,  a  lead 
pencil  which  he  had  gallantly  sharpened,  and 
which  she  had  never  used. 

Her  life  had  been  barren  —  Miss  Mehitable 
knew  that,  and  in  her  hours  of  self-analysis, 
admitted  it.  She  would  gladly  have  taken 
Evelina's  full  measure  of  suffering  in  exchange 
for  one  tithe  of  Araminta's  joy.  After  An 
thony  Dexter  had  turned  from  her  to  Evelina, 
Miss  Mehitable  had  openly  scorned  him.  She 
had  spent  the  rest  of  her  life,  since,  in  showing 
him  and  the  rest  that  men  were  nothing  to  her 
and  that  he  was  least  of  all. 

She  had  hovered  near  his  patients  simply 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  him  —  she  did  not  care  for 
them  at  all.  She  sat  in  the  front  window  that 
she  might  see  him  drive  by,  and  counted  that 
day  lost  which  brought  her  no  sight  of  him. 
This  was  her  one  tenderness,  her  one  vulnerable 
point. 


Hunt  Ibfttp  36i 


The  afternoon  shadows  grew  long  and  the 

Hunt 

maple  branches  ceased  to  sway.  Outside  a 
bird  crooned  a  lullaby  to  his  nesting  mate. 
An  oriole  perched  on  the  topmost  twig  of  an 
evergreen  in  a  corner  of  the  yard,  and  opened 
his  golden  throat  in  a  rapture  of  song. 

Love  was  abroad  in  the  world  that  day. 
Bees  hummed  it,  birds  sang  it,  roses  breathed 
it.  The  black  and  gold  messengers  of  the  fields 
bore  velvety  pollen  from  flower  to  flower, 
moving  lazily  on  shimmering,  gossamer  wings. 
A  meadow-lark  rose  from  a  distant  clover 
field,  dropping  exquisite,  silvery  notes  as  he 
flew.  The  scent  of  green  fields  and  honey 
suckles  came  in  at  the  open  window,  mingled 
inextricably  with  the  croon  of  the  bees,  but 
Miss  Mehitable  knew  only  that  it  was  Summer, 
that  the  world  was  young,  but  she  was  old  and 
alone  and  would  be  alone  for  the  rest  of  her 
life. 

She  leaned  forward  to  look  at  the  picture, 
and  Anthony  Dexter  smiled  back  at  her, 
boyish,  frank,  eager,  lovable.  A  tear  dropped 
on  the  pictured  face — not  the  first  one,  for  the 
photograph  was  blistered  oddly  here  and  there. 

"  I  've  done  all  I  could,"  said  Miss  Mehitable 
to  herself,  as  she  wrapped  it  up  again  in  its 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


many  yellowed  folds  of  muslin.  "  I  thought 
Minty  would  be  happier  so,  but  maybe,  after 
all,  God  knows  best." 


M 


XXV 

IRebeemefc 

ISS  Evelina  sat  alone  in  her  house,  at 
peace  with  Anthony  Dexter  and  with 
all  the  world.  The  surging  flood  of  forgiveness 
and  compassion  which  had  swept  over  her  as 
she  gazed  at  his  dead  face,  had  broken  down  all 
barriers,  abrogated  all  reserves.  She  saw  that 
Piper  Tom  was  right;  had  she  forgiven  him, 
she  would  have  been  free  long  ago. 

She  shrank  no  longer  from  her  kind,  but 
yearned,  instead,  for  friendly  companionship. 
Once  she  had  taken  off  her  veil  and  started 
down  the  road  to  Miss  Mehitable's,  but  the 
habit  of  the  years  was  strong  upon  her,  and 
she  turned  back,  affrighted,  when  she  came 
within  sight  of  the  house. 

Since  she  left  the  hospital,  no  human  being 
had  seen  her  face,  save  Anthony  Dexter  and  his 
son.  She  had  crept,  nun-like,  into  the  shelter 
of  her  chiffon,  dimly  taking  note  of  a  world 


363 


1Re&eeme& 


364 


H  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


1Ret>eeme& 


which  could  not,  in  turn,  look  upon  her.  She 
clung  to  it  still,  yet  perceived  that  it  was  a  lie. 

She  studied  herself  in  the  mirror,  no  longer 
hating  the  sight  of  her  own  face.  She  was  not 
now  blind  to  her  own  beauty,  nor  did  she  fail 
to  see  that  transfiguring  touch  of  sorrow  and 
peace.  These  two  are  sculptors,  one  working 
both  from  within  and  without,  and  the  other 
only  from  within. 

Why  should  she  not  put  her  veil  forever 
away  from  her  now?  Why  should  she  not 
meet  the  world  face  to  face,  as  frankly  as  the 
world  met  her?  Why  should  she  delay? 

She  had  questioned  herself  continually,  but 
found  no  answer.  Since  she  came  back  to 
her  old  home,  she  had  been  mysteriously  led. 
Perhaps  she  was  to  be  led  further  through  the 
deep  mazes  of  life — it  was  not  only  possible, 
but  probable. 

"  I  '11  wait,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  for  a  sign." 

She  had  not  seen  the  Piper  since  the  day 
they  met  so  strangely,  with  Anthony  Dexter 
lying  dead  between  them.  Quite  often,  how 
ever,  she  had  heard  the  flute,  usually  at  sunrise 
or  sunset/ afar  off  in  the  hills.  Once,  at  the 
hour  of  the  turning  night,  the  melody  had 
come  to  her  on  the  first  grey  winds  of  dawn. 


TCefceemefc 


365 


A  robin  had  waked  to  answer  it,  for  the  Piper's 
fluting  was  wondrously  like  his  own  voice. 

Contrasting  her  present  peace  with  her  days 
of  torment,  Miss  Evelina  thrilled  with  gratitude 
to  Piper  Tom,  who  had  taken  the  weeds  out 
of  her  garden  in  more  senses  than  one.  His 
hand  had  guided  her,  slowly,  yet  surely,  to  the 
heights  of  calm.  She  saw  her  life  now  as  a 
desolate  valley  lying  between  two  peaks.  One 
was  sunlit,  yet  opaline  with  the  mists  of  morn 
ing;  the  other  was  scarcely  a  peak,  but  merely 
a  high  and  grassy  plain  upon  which  the  after 
noon  shadows  lay  long. 

Ah,  but  there  were  terrors  in  the  dark  valley 
which  lay  between!  Sharp  crags  and  treeless 
wastes,  tortuous  paths  and  absymal  depths, 
with  never  a  rest  for  the  wayfarer  who  strug 
gled  blindly  on.  She  was  not  yet  so  secure 
upon  the  height  that  she  could  contemplate 
the  valley  unmoved. 

Her  house  was  immaculate,  now,  and  was 
kept  so  by  her  own  hands.  At  first,  she  had 
not  cared,  and  the  dust  and  the  cobwebs  had 
not  mattered  at  all.  Miss  Mehitable,  in  the 
beginning,  had  inspired  her  to  housewifely 
effort,  and  Doctor  Ralph  's  personal  neatness 
had  made  her  ashamed.  She  worked  in  the 


366 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


garden,  too,  keeping  the  brick-bordered  paths 
free  from  weeds,  and  faithfully  attending  to 
every  plant.  , 

Yet  life  seemed  strangely  empty,  lifted  above 
its  all-embracing  pain.  The  house  and  garden 
did  not  occupy  her  fully,  and  she  had  few  books. 
These  were  all  old  ones,  and  she  knew  them  by 
heart,  though  she  had  found  some  pleasure  in 
reading  again  the  well-thumbed  fairy  books  of 
her  childhood. 

She  had  read  the  book  which  Ralph  had 
brought  Araminta,  and  thought  of  asking  him 
to  lend  her  more — if  she  ever  saw  him  again. 
She  knew  that  he  was  very  busy,  but  she  felt 
that,  surely,  he  would  come  again  before 
long. 

Araminta  danced  up  the  path,  singing,  and 
rapped  at  Miss  Evelina 's  door.  When  she 
came  in,  it  was  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  in  a  gloomy 
place. 

"Miss Evelina! "she cried; "Oh,  Miss  Evelina! 
I  'm  going  to  be  married!" 

"  I  'm  glad,"  said  Evelina,  tenderly,  yet  with 
a  certain  wistfulness.  Once  the  joy  of  it  had 
been  in  her  feet,  too,  and  the  dread  valley  of 
desolation  had  opened  before  her. 

"  See!"  cried  Araminta,  extending  a  dimpled 


TRefceemefc 


367 


hand.  "  See  my  ring!  It 's  my  engagement 
ring,"  she  added,  proudly. 

Miss  Evelina  winced  a  little  behind  her  veil, 
for  the  ring  was  the  one  Anthony  Dexter  had 
given  her  soon  after  their  betrothal.  Fearing 
gossip,  she  had  refused  to  wear  it  until  after 
they  were  married.  So  he  had  taken  it,  to 
have  it  engraved,  but,  evidently,  the  engraving 
had  never  been  done.  Otherwise  Ralph  would 
not  have  given  it  to  Araminta — she  was  sure 
of  that. 

"  It  was  his  mother's  ring,  Miss  Evelina, 
and  now  it 's  mine.  His  father  loved  his 
mother  just  as  Ralph  loves  me.  It 's  so 
funny  not  to  have  to  say  '  Doctor  Ralph.' 
Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  I  broke  my  ankle !  He  's 
coming,  but  I  wanted  to  come  first  by  my 
self.  I  made  him  wait  for  five  minutes  down 
under  the  elm  because  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
first.  I  told  Aunt  Hitty,  all  alone,  and  I 
was  n't  a  bit  afraid.  Oh,  Miss  Evelina,  I 
wish  you  had  somebody  to  love  you  as  he 
loves  me!" 

"So  do  I,"  murmured  Evelina,  grateful  for 
the  chiffon  that  hid  her  tears. 

"  Was  n't  there  ever  anybody  ?" 

"  Yes." 


Kkbeemeb 


368 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sun 


"  I  knew  it — you  're  so  sweet  nobody  could 
help  loving  you.  Did  he  die  ?  " 

"Yes."   ' 

"  It  was  that  way  with  Mr.  Thorpe,"  mused 
Araminta,  reminiscently.  "  They  loved  each 
other  and  were  going  to  be  married,  but  she 
died.  He  said,  though,  that  death  did  n't  make 
any  difference  with  loving.  There's  Ralph, 
now." 

"  Little  witch,"  said  the  boy,  fondly,  as  she 
met  him  at  the  door;  "  did  you  think  I  could 
wait  a  whole  five  minutes  ?  " 

They  sat  in  the  parlour  for  half  an  hour  or 
more,  and  during  this  time  it  was  not  necessary 
for  their  hostess  to  say  a  single  word.  They 
were  quite  unaware  that  they  were  not  properly 
conducting  a  three-sided  conversation,  and 
Miss  Evelina  made  no  effort  to  enlighten 
them.  Youth  and  laughter  and  love  had 
not  been  in  her  house  before  for  a  quarter  of 
a  century. 

"Come  again,"  she  begged,  when  they 
started  home.  Joy  incarnate  was  a  welcome 
guest — it  did  not  mock  her  now. 

Half-way  down  the  path,  Ralph  turned  back 
to  the  veiled  woman  who  stood  wistfully  in  the 
doorway.  Araminta  was  swinging,  in  childish 


369 


fashion,  upon  the  gate.  Ralph  took  Miss 
Evelina's  hand  in  his. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  all  I  feel,"  he  began, 
awkwardly,  "  but  I  can't.  With  all  my  heart, 
I  wish  I  could  give  some  of  my  happiness  to 
you!" 

"  I  am  content — since  I  have  forgiven." 

"  If  you  had  not,  I  could  never  have  been 
happy  again,  and  even  now,  I  still  feel  the 
shame  of  it.  Are  you  going  to  wear  that — 
veil — always  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  whispered,  shrinking  back  into 
the  shelter  of  it,  "  but  I  am  waiting  for  a  sign." 

"  May  it  soon  come,"  said  Ralph,  earnestly. 

"  I  am  used  to  waiting.  My  life  has  been 
made  up  of  waiting.  God  bless  you,"  she 
concluded,  impulsively. 

"And  you,"  he  answered,  touching  his  lips 
to  her  hand.  He  started  away,  but  she  held 
him  back.  "  Ralph,"  she  said,  passionately, 
"  be  true  to  her,  be  good  to  her,  and  never  let 
her  doubt  you.  Teach  her  to  trust  you,  and 
make  yourself  worthy  of  her  trust.  Never 
break  a  promise  made  to  her,  though  it  cost 
you  everything  else  you  have  in  the  world.  I 
am  old,  and  I  know  that,  at  the  end,  nothing 
counts  for  an  instant  beside  the  love  of  two. 


370 


H  Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


IRebeemefc 


Remember  that  keeping  faith  with  her  is  keep 
ing  faith  with  God!" 

"  I  will,"  returned  Ralph,  his  voice  low  and 
uneven.  "It  is  what  my  own  mother  would 
have  said  to  me  had  she  been  alive  to-day. 
I  thank  you." 

The  house  was  very  lonely  after  they  had 
gone,  though  the  echoes  of  love  and  laughter 
seemed  to  have  come  back  to  a  pi  ace  where  they 
once  held  full  sway,  t  The  afternoon  wore  to 
its  longest  shadows  ana  the  dense  shade  of  the 
cypress  was  thrown  upon  the  garden.  Evelina 
smiled  to  herself,  for  it  was  only  a  shadow. 

The  mignonette  breathed  fragrance  into  the 
dusk.  Scent  of  lavender  and  rosemary  filled 
the  stillness  with  balm.  Drowsy  birds  chirped 
sleepily  in  their  swaying  nests,  and  the  fairy 
folk  of  field  and  meadow  set  up  a  whirr  of 
melodious  wings.  White,  ghostly  moths  flut 
tered,  cloud-like,  over  the  quiet  garden,  acui 
here  and  there  a  tiny  lamp-bearer  starred  the 
aight.  A  flaming  meteor  sped  across  the  un 
charted  dark  of  the  heavens,  where  only  the 
love-star  shone.  (^The  moon  had  not  yet  risen. 

From  within,  Evelina  recognised  the  sturdy 
figure  of  Piper  Tom,  and  went  out  to  meet  him 


TRefceemefc 


371 


as  he  approached.  She  had  drawn  down  her 
veil,  but  her  heart  was  strangely  glad. 

"  Shall  we  sit  in  the  garden?"  she 
asked. 

"Aye,  in  the  garden/'  answered  the  Piper, 
"  since  't  is  for  the  last  time." 

His  voice  was  sad,  and  Evelina  yearned  to 
help  him,  even  as  he  had  helped  her.  "  What 
is  it?"  she  asked.  "  Is  it  anything  you  can  tell 
me?" 

"  Only  that  I  '11  be  trudging  on  to-morrow. 
My  work  here  is  done.  I  can  do  no  more." 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for 
all  you  have  done  for  me.  You  made  me  see 
things  in  their  true  relation  and  taught  me 
how  to  forgive.  I  was  in  bondage,  and  you 
made  me  free." 

The  Piper  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Spinner  in 
the  Sun,"  he  cried,  "is  it  true?  Just  as  I 
thought  your  night  was  endless,  has  the  light 
come?  Tell  me  again,"  he  pleaded,  "  ah,  tell 
me  't  is  true!" 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Evelina,  with  solemn  joy. 
"  In  all  my  heart  there  is  nothing  but  forgive 
ness.  The  anger  and  resentment  are  gone — 
all  gone." 

"  Spinner  in  the  Sun!"  breathed  the  Piper, 


U\c&eeme& 


372 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


scarcely  conscious  that  he  spoke  the  words 
aloud.  "  My  Spinner  in  the  Sun!" 

Slowly  the  moon  climbed  toward  the  zenith, 
and  still,  because  there  was  no  need,  they  spoke 
no  word.  Dew  rose  whitely  from  the  clover 
fields  beyond,  veiling  them  as  with  white 
chiffon.  It  was  the  Piper,  at  last,  who  broke 
the  silence. 

"When  I  trudge  on  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
"  't  will  be  with  a  glad  heart,  even  though  the 
little  chap  is  no  longer  with  me.  T  is  a  fair, 
brave  world,  I  'm  thinking,  since  I  've  set  your 
threads  to  going  right  again.  I  called  you," 
he  added,  softly,  "  and  you  came." 

"  Yes,"  said  Evelina,  happily,  "  you  called 
me,  and  I  came." 

"  Spinner  in  the  Sun,"  said  the  Piper,  tend 
erly,  "  have  you  guessed  my  work  ?  " 

"  Why,  keeping  the  shop,  is  n't  it  ?"  asked 
Evelina,  wonderingly;  "  the  needles  and  thread 
and  pins  and  buttons  and  all  the  little  trifles 
that  women  need  ?  A  pedler's  pack,  set  up  in 
a  house? " 

The  Piper  laughed.  "No,"  he  replied, 
"  I  'm  thinking  that  is  not  my  work,  nor  yet 
the  music  that  has  no  tunA,  which  I  'm  for 
ever  playing  on  my  flute.  Lady,  I  have 


373 


travelled  far,  and  seen  much,  and  always 
there  has  been  one  thing  that  is  strangest 
of  all.  In  every  place  that  I  have  been  in 
yet,  there  has  been  a  church  and  a  minister, 
whose  business  was  to  watch  over  human 
souls. 

"  He  's  told  them  what  was  right  according 
to  his  own  thinking,  which  I  'm  far  from  saying 
isn't  true  for  him,  and  never  minded  anything 
more.  In  spite  of  blood  and  tears  and  agony, 
he  's  always  held  up  the  one  standard,  and,  I  'm 
thinking,  has  always  pointed  to  the  hardest 
way  to  reach  it.  The  way  has  been  so  hard 
that  many  have  never  reached  it  at  all,  and 
those  who  have — I  've  not  seen  that  they  are 
the  happiest  or  the  kindest,  nor  that  they  are 
loved  the  most. 

"  In  the  same  place,  too,  there  is  always  a 
doctor,  whose  business  it  is  to  watch  over  the 
body.  If  you  have  a  broken  leg  or  a  broken 
arm,  or  a  fever,  he  can  set  you  right  again. 
Blind  eyes  can  be  made  to  see,  and  deaf  ears 
made  to  hear,  but,  Lady,  who  is  there  to  care 
about  a  broken  heart? 

"  I  have  taken  in  my  pedler's  pack  the  things 
that  women  need,  because  't  is  women,  mostly, 
who  bear  the  heartaches  of  the  world,  and  I 


374 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


•Re&eemet* 


come  closer  to  them  so.  What  you  say  I  have 
done  for  you,  I  have  done  for  many  more.  I  'm 
trying  to  make  the  world  a  bit  easier  for  all 
women  because  a  woman  gave  me  life.  And 
because  I  love  another  woman  in  another  way," 
he  added,  his  voice  breaking,  "  I  '11  be  trudging 
on  to-morrow  alone,  though  't  would  be  easier, 
I  'm  thinking,  to  linger  here." 

Evelina's  heart  leaped  with  a  throb  of  the 
old  pain.  "Tell  me  about  her,"  she  said, 
because  it  seemed  the  only  thing  to  say. 

"The  woman  I  love,"  answered  the  Piper, 
"  is  not  for  me.  She  'd  never  be  thinking  of 
stooping  to  such  as  I,  and  I  'd  not  be  insulting 
her  by  asking.  She  's  very  proud,  but  she 
could  be  tender  if  she  chose,  and  she  's  the 
bravest  soul  I  ever  knew — so  brave  that  she 
fears  neither  death  nor  life,  though  life  itself 
has  not  been  kind. 

"  Her  little  feet  have  been  set  upon  the  rough 
pathways,  almost  since  the  beginning,  and  her 
hands  catch  at  my  heart-strings,  they  are  so 
frail.  They  're  fluttering  always  like  fright 
ened  birds,  and  the  fluttering  is  in  her  voice, 
too." 

"  And  her  face?  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  've  dreamed  of  her  face !     I 


ve 


IRefceemefc 


375 


thought  it  was  noble  beyond  all  words,  with 
eyes  like  the  first  deep  violets  of  Spring,  but 
filled  with  compassion  for  all  the  world. 
So  brave,  so  true,  so  tender  it  might  be  that 
I  'm  thinking  if  I  could  see  it  once,  with 
love  on  it  for  me,  that  I  'd  never  be  asking 
more." 

"  Why  have  n't  you  seen  her  face  ?"  asked 
Evelina,  idly,  to  relieve  an  awkward  pause. 
"  Is  she  only  a  dream- woman  ?  " 

"  Nay,  she  's  not  a  dream-woman.  She 
lives  and  breathes  as  dreams  never  do,  but 
she  hides  her  face  because  she  is  so  beautiful. 
She  veils  her  face  from  me  as  once  she  veiled 
her  soul." 

Then,  at  last,  Evelina  understood.  She  felt 
the  hot  blood  mantling  her  face,  and  was  thank 
ful,  once  more,  for  the  shelter  of  her  chiffon. 

"  Spinner  in  the  Sun,"  said  the  Piper,  with 
suppressed  tenderness,  "  were  you  thinking 
I  could  see  you  more  than  once  or  twice  and 
not  be  caring  ?  Were  you  thinking  I  could 
have  the  inmost  soul  of  me  torn  because  you  'd 
been  hurt,  and  never  be  knowing  what  lay 
beyond  it,  for  me?  Were  you  thinking  I  could 
be  talking  to  you  day  after  day,  without  having 
the  longing  to  talk  with  you  always  ?  And 


IRe&ecmeb 


376 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


IRefceemel* 


now  that  I  've  done  my  best  for  you,  and  given 
you  all  that  rests  with  me  for  giving,  do  you  see 
why  I  '11  be  trudging  on  to-morrow,  alone  ? 

"  T  is  not  for  me  to  be  asking  it,  for  God 
knows  I  could  never  be  worthy,  but  I  've 
thought  of  Heaven  as  a  place  where  you  and  I 
might  fare  together  always,  with  me  to  heal 
your  wounds,  help  you  over  the  rough  places, 
and  guide  you  through  the  dark.  That  part 
of  it,  I  'm  to  have,  I  Jm  thinking,  for  God  has 
been  very  good  to  me.  I  'm  to  know  that 
wherever  you  are,  you  're  happy  at  last,  because 
it 's  been  given  me  to  lead  you  into  the  light. 
I  called  you,  and  you  came." 

"  Yes,"  said  Evelina,  her  voice  lingering 
upon  the  words,  "  you  called  me  and  I  came, 
and  was  redeemed.  Tell  me,  in  your  thought 
of  Heaven,  have  you  ever  asked  to  see  my 
face?" 

"  Nay,"  cried  the  Piper,  "  do  you  think  I  'd 
be  asking  for  what  you  hide  from  me  ?  I  know 
that 't  is  because  you  are  so  beautiful,  and  such 
beauty  is  not  for  my  eyes  to  see." 

"  Piper  Tom,"  she  answered;  "dear  Piper 
Tom !  I  told  you  once  that  I  had  been  terribly 
burned.  I  was  hurt  so  badly  that  when  the 
man  I  was  pledged  to  marry,  and  whose  life 


IRefceemefc 


377 


I  had  saved,  was  told  that  every  feature  of 
mine  was  destroyed  except  my  sight,  he  went 
away,  and  never  came  back  any  more." 

"  The  brute  who  hurt  Laddie,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  tone.  "  I  told  him  then  that  a  man  who 
would  torture  a  dog  would  torture  a  woman, 
too.  I  'd  not  be  minding  the  scars,"  he  added, 
"  since  they  're  brave  scars,  and  not  the  marks 
of  sin  or  shame.  I  'm  thinking  that  't  is  the 
brave  scars  that  have  made  you  so  beautiful— 
so  beautiful/'  he  repeated,  "  that  you  hide 
your  face." 

Into  Evelina's  heart  came  something  new 
and  sweet — that  perfect,  absolute,  unwavering 
trust  which  a  woman  has  but  once  in  her  life 
and  of  which  Anthony  Dexter  had  never  given 
her  the  faintest  hint.  All  at  once,  she  knew 
that  she  could  not  let  him  go;  that  he  must 
either  stay,  or  take  her,  too. 

She  leaned  forward.  ' '  Piper  Tom/'  she  said, 
unashamed,  "  when  you  go,  will  you  take  me 
with  you?  I  think  we  belong  together — you 
and  I." 

"Belong  together?"  he  repeated,  incredu 
lously.  "  Ah,  't  is  your  pleasure  to  mock  me. 
Oh,  my  Spinner  in  the  Sun,  why  would  you 
wish  to  hurt  me  so  ?  " 


378 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Tears  blinded  Evelina  so  that,  through 
her  veil,  and  in  the  night,  she  could  not  see 
at  all.  When  the  mists  cleared,  he  was  gone. 


XXVI 

Ebe  lifting  of  tbeDeil 

FROM  afar,  at  the  turn  of  night,  came  the 
pipes  o'  Pan — the  wild,  mysterious  strain 
which  had  first  summoned  Evelina  from  pain 
to  peace.  At  the  sound,  she  sat  up  in  bed,  her 
heavy,  lustreless  white  hair  falling  about  her 
shoulders.  She  guessed  that  Piper  Tom  was 
out  upon  the  highway,  with  his  pedler's  pack 
strapped  to  his  sturdy  back.  As  in  a  vision, 
she  saw  him  marching  onward  from  place  to 
place,  to  make  the  world  easier  for  all  women 
because  a  woman  had  given  him  life,  and 
because  he  loved  another  woman  in  another 
way. 

Was  it  always  to  be  so,  she  wondered;  should 
she  for  ever  thirst  while  others  drank?  While 
others  loved,  must  she  eternally  stand  aside 
heart-hungry?  Unyielding  Fate  confronted 
her,  veiled  inscrutably,  but  she  guessed  that 
the  veil  concealed  a  mocking  smile. 


379 


Ube 

lifting  of 
tbe  Weil 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ubc 

lifting  of 
tbe  Veil 


Out  of  her  Nessus-robe  of  agony,  Evelina 
had  emerged  with  one  truth.  Whatever  is 
may  not  be  right,  but  it  is  the  outcome  of  deep 
and  far-reaching  forces  with  which  our  finite 
hands  may  not  meddle.  The  problem  has  but 
one,  solution — adjustment.  Hedged  in  by  the 
iron  bars  of  circumstance  as  surely  as  a  bird 
within  his  cage,  it  remains  for  the  individual 
to  choose  whether  he  will  beat  his  wings  against 
the  bars  until  he  dies,  or  take  his  place  serenely 
on  the  perch  ordained  for  him — and  sing. 

Within  his  cage,  the  bird  may  do  as  he  likes. 
He  may  sleep  or  eat  or  bathe,  or  whet  his  beak 
uselessly  against  the  cuttlebone  thrust  between 
the  bars.  He  may  hop  about  endlessly  and 
chirp  salutations  to  other  birds,  likewise  caged, 
or  he  may  try  his  eager  wings  in  a  flight  which 
is  little  better  than  no  flight  at  all.  His  cage 
may  be  a  large  one,  yet,  if  he  explores  far 
enough,  he  will  most  surely  bruise  his  body 
against  the  bars  of  circumstance.  With  beak 
and  claws  and  constant  toil  he  may,  perhaps, 
force  an  opening  in  the  bars  wide  enough  to 
get  through,  slowly,  and  with  great  discomfort. 
He  has  gained,  however,  only  a  larger  cage. 

If  he  is  a  wise  bird,  he  settles  down  and  tries 
to  become  satisfied  with  his  surroundings;  even 


TTbe  SLiftfna  ot  tbe  IDefl 


381 


to  gather  pleasure  from  the  gilt  wires  and  the 
cuttlebone  thrust  picturesquely  between  them. 
When  the  sea  gull  wings  his  majestic  way  past 
his  habitation,  free  as  the  wind  itself,  the  wise 
bird  will  close  his  eyes,  and  affect  not  to  see. 
So,  also,  will  the  gull,  for  there  is  no  loneliness 
comparable  with  unlimited  freedom. 

Upon  the  heights,  the  great  ones  stand — 
alone.  To  the  dweller  in  the  valley,  those 
distant  peaks  are  clad  in  more  than  mortal 
splendour.  Time  and  distance  veil  the  jagged 
cliffs  and  hide  the  precipices.  Day  comes  first 
to  the  peaks  and  lingers  there  longest;  while  it 
is  night  in  the  valley,  there  is  still  afterglow 
upon  the  hills. 

Perhaps,  some  dweller  in  the  valley  longs 
for  the  height,  and  sets  forth,  heeding  not  the 
eager  hands  that,  selfishly,  as  it  seems,  would 
keep  him  within  their  loving  reach.  Having 
once  turned  his  face  upward,  he  does  not  falter, 
even  for  the  space  of  a  backward  look.  He 
finds  that  the  way  is  steep,  that  there  is  no 
place  to  rest,  and  that  the  comfort  and  shelter 
of  the  valley  are  unknown.  The  sun  burns  him, 
and  the  cold  freezes  his  very  blood,  for  there 
are  only  extremes  on  the  way  to  the  peak. 
Glittering  wastes  of  ice  dazzle  him  and  snow 


Ube 

lifting  of 
tbe  IDctI 


382 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


trbc 

gifting  of 
Ubc  IDeil 


blinds  him,  with  terror  and  not  with  beauty 
as  from  below.  The  opaline  mists  are  gone, 
and  he  sees  with  dreadful  clearness  the  path 
which  lies  immediately  ahead. 

Beyond,  there  is  emptiness,  vast  as  the  desert. 
At  the  timber  line,  he  pauses,  and,  for  the  first 
time,  looks  back.  Ah,  how  fair  the  valley  lies 
below  him!  The  silvery  ribbon  of  the  river 
winds  through  a  pageantry  of  green  and  gold. 
Upon  the  banks  are  woodland  nooks,  fragrant 
with  growing  things  and  filled  with  a  tender 
quite  broken  only  by  the  murmer  of  the  stream. 
The  turf  is  soft  and  cool  to  the  wayfarer's  tired 
feet,  and  there  is  crystal  water  in  abundance  to 
quench  his  thirst. 

But,  from  the  peak,  no  traveller  returns, 
for  the  way  is  hopelessly  cut  off.  Above  the 
timber  line  there  is  only  a  waste  of  rock,  worn 
by  vast  centuries  in  which  every  day  is  an 
ordinary  lifetime,  into  small,  jagged  stones  that 
cut  the  feet.  The  crags  are  thunder-swept  and 
blown  by  cataclysmic  storms  of  which  the 
dwellers  in  the  valley  have  never  dreamed. 
In  the  unspeakable  loneliness,  the  pilgrim 
abides  for  ever  with  his  mocking  wreath  of 
laurel,  cheered  only  by  a  rumbling,  reverberant 
"All  Hail !"  which  comes,  at  age-long  intervals, 


"Sbe  Xif  tins  of  tbe  Dell 


383 


from  some  peak  before  whose  infinite  distance 
his  finite  sight  fails. 

At  intervals  throughout  the  day,  Miss  Eve 
lina  heard  the  Piper's  flute,  always  from  the 
hills.  Each  time  it  brought  her  comfort,  for 
she  knew  that,  as  yet,  he  had  not  gone.  Once' 
she  fancied  that  he  had  gone  long  ago,  and 
some  woodland  deity,  magically  transported 
from  ancient  Greece,  had  taken  his  place. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  she  heard  it  once,  but 
so  far  and  faintly  that  she  guessed  it  was  for 
the  last  time. 

In  her  garden  there  were  flowers,  blooming 
luxuriantly.  From  their  swaying  censers, 
fragrant  incense  filled  the  air.  The  weeds  had 
been  taken  out  and  no  trace  was  left.  From 
the  garden  of  her  heart  the  weeds  were  gone, 
too,  but  there  were  no  flowers.  Rue  and 
asphodel  had  been  replaced  by  lavender  and 
rosemary;  the  deadly  black  poppy  had  been 
uprooted,  and  where  it  had  grown  there  were 
spikenard  and  balm.  Yet,  as  the  Piper  had 
said,  she  asked  for  roses,  and  it  is  not  every 
garden  in  which  roses  will  bloom. 

At  dusk  she  went  out  into  her  transformed 
garden.  Where  once  the  thorns  had  held  her 


ttbe 

lifting  of 

tbe  Veil 


384 


H  Spinner  In  tbe  Sim 


Ubc 

%if ttng  of 
tbe  tPefl 


back,  the  paths  were  straight  and  smooth. 
Dense  undergrowth  and  clinging  vines  no 
longer  made  her  steps  difficult.  Piper  Tom 
had  made  her  garden  right,  and  opened  before 
her,  clearly,  the  way  of  her  soul. 

In  spite  of  the  beauty  there  was  desolation, 
because  the  cheery  presence  had  gone  to  return 
no  more.  Her  loneliness  was  so  acute  that  it 
was  almost  pain,  and  yet  the  pain  was  bearable, 
because  he  had  taught  her  how  to  endure  and 
to  look  beyond. 

Fairy-like,  the  white  moths  fluttered  through 
the  garden,  and  thevcrickets  piped  cheerily. 
Miss  Evelina  stopped  her  ears  that  she  might 
not  hear  their  piping,  rude  reminder,  as  it  was, 
of  music  that  should  come  no  more,  but,  even 
so,  she  could  not  shut  out  remembrance. 

With  a  flash  of  her  old  resentment,  she  re 
called  how  everything  upon  which  she  had 
ever  depended  had  been  taken  away  from 
her,  almost  immediately.  No  sooner  had  she 
learned  the  sweetness  of  clinging  than  she 
had  been  forced  to  stand  alone.  One  by 
one  the  supports  had  been  removed,  until  she 
stood  alone,  desolate  and  wretched,  indeed, 
but  alone.  Of  such  things  as  these  self-reliance 
is  made. 


SLiftfna  of  toe  Deii 


385 


Suddenly,  the  still  air  seemed  to  stir.  A 
sound  that  was  neither  breath  nor  music,  so 
softly  was  it  blown,  echoed  in  from  the  hills. 
Then  came  another  and  another — merest  hints 
of  melody,  till  at  last  she  started  up,  trembling. 
Surely  these  distant  flutings  were  the  pipes 
o'Pan! 

She  set  herself  to  listen,  her  tiny  hands  work 
ing  convulsively.  Nearer  and  nearer  the 
music  came,  singing  of  wind  and  stream  and 
mountain — the  "music  that  had  no  tune." 
No  sooner  had  it  become  clear  than  it  ceased 
altogether. 

But,  an  hour  or  so  afterward,  when  the  moon 
had  risen,  there  was  a  familiar  step  upon  the 
road  outside.  Veiled,  Evelina  went  to  the 
gate  and  met  Piper  Tom,  whose  red  feather 
was  aloft  in  his  hat  again  and  whose  flute  was 
slung  over  his  shoulder  by  its  accustomed  cord. 
His  pedler's  pack  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone,"  she  said. 

"  I  had,"  he  answered,"  but 't  is  not  written, 
I  'm  thinking,  that  a  man  may  not  change  his 
mind  as  well  as  a  woman.  My  heart  would 
not  let  my  feet  go  away  from  you  until  I  knew 
for  sure  whether  or  not  you  were  mocking  me 
last  night." 


•Cbe 

lifting  of 
tbe  Deil 


386  H  Spinner  tn  tbe  Sun 

"  Mocking  you  ?    No!    Surely  you  know  I 

lifting  of  D;  J    J 

tbe  iDeii     would  never  do  that  ? 

"  No,  I  did  not  know.  The  ways  of  women 
are  strange,  I  'm  thinking,  past  all  finding  out. 
In  truth,  'twould  be  stranger  if  you  were  not 
mocking  me  than  it  ever  could  be  if  you  were. 
Tell  me,"  he  pleaded,  "  ah,  tell  me  what  you 
were  meaning,  in  words  so  plain  that  I  can 
understand!" 

"Come,"  said  Evelina;  "come  to  where  we 
were  sitting  last  night  and  I  will  tell  you/7 
He  followed  her  back  to  the  maple  beside  the 
broken  wall,  where  the  two  chairs  still  faced 
each  other.  He  leaned  forward,  resting  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  and  looked  at  her  so  keenly 
that  she  felt,  in  spite  of  the  darkness  and  her 
veil,  that  he  must  see  her  face. 

"  Piper  Tom,"  she  said,  "when  you  came 
to  me,  I  was  the  most  miserable  woman 
on  earth.  I  had  been  most  cruelly  betrayed, 
and  sorrow  seized  upon  me  when  I  was  not 
strong  enough  to  stand  it.  It  preyed  upon 
me  until  it  became  an  obsession — it  possessed 
me  absolutely,  and  from  it  there  was  no 
escape  but  death." 

"  I  know,"  answered  the  Piper.  "  I  found 
the  bottle  that  had  held  the  dreamless 


ttbe  3Lfftfn0  of  tbe  Deil  3s7 

sleep.  I  'm  thinking  you  had  thrown  it  away. 

0  *  lifting  of 

"  Yes,  I  had  thrown  it  away,  but  only  because     tbe 
I  was   too  proud  to  die  at  his   door — do  you 
understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  'm  thinking  I  understand,  but  go  on. 
You  've  not  told  me  whether  or  no  you  mocked 
me.  What  did  you  mean?  " 

"  I  meant, "  said  Evelina,  steadfastly, 
"  that  if  you  cared  for  the  woman  you  had 
led  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  cypress,  and 
for  all  that  was  in  her  heart  to  give  you, 
she  was  yours.  Not  only  out  of  gratitude, 
but  because  you  have  put  trust  into  a  heart 
that  has  known  no  trust  since  its  betrayal, 
and  because,  where  trust  is,  there  may  some 
day  come — more." 

Her  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  but 
Piper  Tom  heard  it.  He  took  her  hand  in  his 
own,  and  she  felt  him  tremble — she  was  the 
strong  one,  now. 

"  Spinner  in  the  Sun,"  he  began,  huskily, 
"  were  you  meaning  that  you  'd  go  with  me 
when  I  took  the  highway  again,  and  help  me 
make  the  world  easier  for  everybody  with  a 
hurt  heart  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  You  called  me  and 
I  came — for  always." 


388 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 

lifting  of 
tbe  Deil 


"  Were  you  meaning  that  you  'd  face  the 
storms  and  the  cold  with  me,  and  take  no  heed 
of  the  rain — that  you  'd  live  on  the  coarse  fare 
I  could  pick  up  from  day  to  day,  and  never 
mind  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  meant  all  that." 

"  Were  you  meaning,  perhaps,  that  you  'd 
make  a  home  for  me?  Ah,  Spinner  in  the  Sun, 
it  takes  a  woman  to  make  a  home!  " 

"  Yes,  I  'd  make  a  home,  or  go  gypsying  with 
you,  just  as  you  chose/' 

The  Piper  laughed,  with  inexpressible  tender 
ness.  "  You  know,  I  'm  thinking,  that 't  would 
be  a  home,  and  not  gypsying — that  I  'd  not 
let  you  face  anything  I  could  shield  you  from." 

Evelina  laughed,  too — a  low,  sweet  laugh. 
"  Yes,  I  know/'  she  said. 

The  Piper  turned  away,  struggling  with 
temptation.  At  length  he  came  back  to 
her.  "  'T  is  wrong  of  me,  I  'm  thinking, 
but  I  take  you  as  a  man  takes  Heaven,  and 
we  '11  do  the  work  together.  T  is  as  though 
I  had  risen  from  the  dead  and  the  gates  of 
pearl  were  open,  with  all  the  angels  of  God 
beckoning  me  in." 

In  the  exaltation  that  was  upon  him,  he  had 
no  thought  of  profaning  her  by  a  touch.  She 


Xtftfns  of  tbe  IDeil 


389 


stood  apart  from  him  as  something  high  and 
holy,  enthroned  in  a  sacred  place. 

"  Beloved,"  he  pleaded,  "  will  you  be  coming 
with  me  now  to  the  place  where  I  saw  you  first? 
Tis  night  now,  and  then  'twas  day,  but  I  'm 
thinking  the  words  are  wrong.  'T  is  day  now, 
with  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars  all  shining  at 
once  and  suns  that  I  never  saw  before.  Will 
you  come  ?  " 

"  I  '11  go  wherever  you  lead  me,"  she  an 
swered.  "  While  you  hold  my  hand  in  yours, 
I  can  never  be  afraid." 

They  went  through  the  night  together,  taking 
the  shorter  way  over  the  hills.  She  stumbled 
and  he  took  her  hand,  his  own  still  trembling. 
"Close  your  beautiful  eyes,"  he  whispered, 
"  and  trust  me  to  lead  you." 

Though  she  did  not  close  her  eyes,  she 
gave  herself  wholly  to  his  guidance,  noting 
how  he  chose  for  himself  the  rougher  places 
to  give  her  the  easier  path.  He  pushed  aside 
the  undergrowth  before  her,  lifted  her  gently 
over  damp  hollows,  and  led  her  around  the 
stones. 

At  last  they  came  to  the  woods  that  opened 
out  upon  the  upper  river  road,  where  she  had 
stood  the  day  she  had  been  splashed  with  mud 


TSbe 

lifting  of 
tbc  Veil 


390 


H  Spinner  in  tbe  Sun 


Ube 

lifting  of 
tbe  Veil 


from  Anthony  Dexter's  wheels,  and,  at  the 
same  instant,  had  heard  the  mysterious  flutings 
from  afar.  They  entered  near  the  hill  to  which 
her  long  wandering  had  led  her,  and  at  the  foot 
of  it,  the  Piper  paused. 

"  You  '11  have  no  fear,  I  'm  thinking,  since 
the  moon  makes  the  clearing  as  bright  as  day, 
and  I  '11  not  be  letting  you  out  of  my  sight. 
I  have  a  fancy  to  stand  upon  yonder  level  place 
and  call  you  as  I  called  you  once  before.  Only, 
this  time,  the  heart  of  me  will  dance  to  my  own 
music,  for  I  know  you  '11  be  coming  all  the 
while  I  play." 

He  left  her  and  clambered  up  the  hill  to  the 
narrow  ledge  which  sloped  back,  and  was  sur 
rounded  with  pines.  He  kept  in  the  open 
spaces,  so  that  the  moonlight  was  always  upon 
him,  and  she  did  not  lose  sight  of  him  more  than 
once  or  twice,  and, then  only  for  a  moment. 
The  hill  was  not  a  high  one  and  the  ascent  was 
very  gradual.  Within  a  few  minutes,  he  had 
gained  his  place. 

Clear  and  sweet  through  the  moonlit  forest 
rang  out  the  pipes  o'  Pan,  singing  of  love 
and  joy.  Never  before  had  the  Piper's  flute 
given  forth  such  music  as  this.  The  melody 
was  as  instinctive  as  the  mating-call  of  a 


%ff ting  of  tbe  Deii 


391 


thrush,  as  crystalline  as  a  mountain  stream, 
and  as  pure  as  the  snow  from  whence  the 
stream  had  come. 

Evelina  climbed  to  meet  him,  her  face  and 
heart  uplifted.  The  silvery  notes  dropped 
about  her  like  rain  as  she  ascended,  strangely 
glad  and  strangely  at  peace.  When  she  reached 
the  level  place  where  he  was  standing,  his  face 
illumined  with  unspeakable  joy.  He  dropped 
his  flute  and  opened  his  arms. 

"My  Spinner  in  the  Sun,"  he  whispered, 
"  I  called  you,  and  you  came." 

"  Yes, "  she  answered,  from  his  close 
embrace,  "you  called  me,  and  I  have  come — 
for  always." 

At  last,  he  released  her  and  they  stood  facing 
each  other.  The  Piper  was  stirred  to  the 
depths  of  his  soul.  "  Last  night  I  dreamed," 
he  said, "  and  't  was  the  dream  that  brought  me 
back.  It  was  a  little  place,  with  a  brook  close 
by,  and  almost  too  small  to  be  called  a  house, 
but  'twas  a  home,  I  'm  thinking,  because  you 
were  there.  It  was  night,  and  I  had  come  back 
from  making  the  world  a  bit  easier  for  some 
poor  woman-soul,  and  you  were  standing  in  the 
door,  waiting. 

"  The  veil  was  gone,  and  there  was  love  on 


Ube 

lifting  ol 
tbe  Veil 


392 


Spinner  fn  tbe  Sun 


ttbe 

lifting  of 
tbe  Veil 


your  face — ah,  I  've  often  dreamed  a  woman 
was  waiting  for  me  so,  but  because  you  hide 
your  beauty  from  me/ 1  is  not  for  me  to  be  ask 
ing  more.  God  knows  I  have  enough  given 
me,  now. 

"  Since  the  first,  I  've  known  you  were  very 
beautiful,  and  very  brave.  I  knew,  too,  that 
you  were  sad — that  you  had  been  through 
sorrows  no  man  would  dare  to  face.  I  've 
dreamed  your  eyes  were  like  the  first  violets  of 
Spring,  your  lips  deep  scarlet  like  the  Winter 
berries,  and  I  know  the  wonder  of  your  hair, 
for  the  veil  does  not  hide  it  all.  I  've  dreamed 
your  face  was  cold  and  pure,  as  if  made  from 
marble,  yet  tender,  too,  and  I  well  know  that 
it 's  noble  past  all  words  of  mine,  because  it 
bears  brave  scars. 

"  I  've  told  you  I  would  never  ask,  and 
I  '11  keep  my  word,  for  I  know  well  'tis  not 
for  the  likes  of  me  to  see  it,  but  only  to  dream. 
Don't  think  I  'm  asking,  for  I  never  will,  but, 
Spinner  in  the  Sun,  because  you  said  you 
would  fare  with  me  on  the  highway  and  face 
the  cold  and  storm,  it  gives  me  courage  to 
ask  for  this. 

"  If  I  close  my  eyes,  will  you  lift  your  veil, 
and  let  me  kiss  the  brave  scars,  that  were  never 


Ube  Xifttno  of  tbe  IDeil 


393 


from  sin  or  shame  ?  The  brave  scars,  Beloved 
— ah,  if  you  would  let  me,  only  once,  kiss  the 
brave  scars!" 

Evelina  laughed — a  laugh  that  was  half  a 
sob — and  leaning  forward,  full  into  the  moon 
light,  she  lifted  her  veil — for  ever. 


ifting  of 
tbe  Veil 


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